Dorothy moved carefully across her small, cozy kitchen, her slippers making soft sounds against the old wooden floor. She adjusted her heavy glasses and ran her fingers over the calendar hanging near the refrigerator. The corners were curled from months of use. Her eyes landed on today’s date, circled in cheerful red ink: “My Birthday.”
A gentle warmth spread through her chest. Birthdays had always carried a quiet hope, even if she was spending this one alone. But this time, it was different. This time, she had planned a special dinner—because she wasn’t supposed to be alone. Miley and Ryan, her children, had promised to come.
She turned back to the stove, setting aside her thoughts, and busied herself with the meal. The kitchen filled with comforting sounds—the rhythmic chopping of fresh vegetables, the gentle sizzling of meat, the bubbling of pots. She moved like a dancer, effortlessly preparing dishes that had once made her children smile.
The aroma of freshly baked bread mixed with the sweet scent of roasted vegetables and savory chicken. Each dish was placed carefully on the table, as if setting the stage for a perfect evening. At the center, she proudly set the pie she had baked earlier, its surface smooth with thick frosting. She imagined Miley and Ryan laughing as they took their first bites, just like they used to.
Dorothy sighed and sank into her chair. The weight of the day settled into her bones. She reached for an old framed photograph on the table. It showed her at a lakeside, smiling broadly, her arms wrapped tightly around fifteen-year-old Miley and eight-year-old Ryan. Their faces were bright with happiness and sunshine.
But Dorothy’s smile slowly faded as her fingers traced the torn edge of the photograph. Someone had once stood there beside her—someone whose face had been ripped away, leaving behind only empty whiteness. A ghost of the past. A reminder of things she had tried to forget.
Evening arrived slowly, shadows creeping through the house. The table was set with her best dishes, candles flickering softly. Dorothy stood by the door, glancing at the clock. Each slow tick made her heart beat faster. She had waited for this moment for weeks—she couldn’t wait to see Miley and Ryan, to hug them again.
But the minutes stretched into hours. The house remained silent. No laughter, no footsteps, no voices calling, “Mom, we’re here!” Dorothy pulled the curtain aside and peered into the driveway. No movement. No headlights. Nothing.
A knot of worry tightened in her chest. With trembling fingers, she dialed Miley’s number. No answer. Ryan’s number. Silence. Her heart pounded.
“Why aren’t they here?” she whispered, gripping the phone tightly. “Did something happen?”
The sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the silence. Relief flooded her as she rushed to the door, expecting to see her children. But when she opened it, her breath caught in her throat.
A young courier stood there, holding a white box.
“Miss Dorothy?” he asked politely. “This was ordered especially for you.”
Dorothy hesitated before taking the box. “Who sent it?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t have that information,” the courier replied gently before stepping away into the night.
Slowly, Dorothy carried the box to the table. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful cake, decorated with delicate white frosting. For a moment, warmth returned—maybe her children had sent it as a surprise.
Then she saw the words written across the cake in smooth, bold letters.
“We Know What You Did.”
Dorothy’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. Her fingers trembled as she pushed the box away. Old fears, buried for years, clawed their way back to the surface.
Her mind raced. Who sent this? What did they know? And why now?
Without thinking, she grabbed her keys and ran to her car. She needed to find Miley. She needed answers.
Dorothy drove quickly to Miley’s house, her heart hammering in her chest. She rushed to the front porch and knocked hard on the door.
“Miley! Miley, are you home? Please, answer me!”
Silence. Cold, eerie silence.
She moved to the window and pressed her face against the glass, peering into the darkness. Shadows shifted inside the house, playing tricks on her eyes.
A calm but concerned voice from behind made her jump. “Dorothy? Is that you?”
She spun around, startled, and saw Sharon, Miley’s neighbor, watching her from her porch.
“Sharon!” Dorothy said, breathless. “Have you seen Miley or Ryan? They’re not answering their phones!”
Sharon frowned. “I saw them this morning. They were packing the car, heading somewhere important. Miley mentioned the lake.”
Dorothy’s stomach twisted painfully. “The lake?”
Memories flashed in her mind—bright summer days, laughter, picnics. But also something darker, something she had locked away for years.
She rushed back to her car. “Thank you, Sharon!” she called before speeding off toward the lake.
By the time Dorothy arrived, the sun was setting, casting an eerie glow over the water. Her heart pounded as she spotted Miley’s car parked near the old gazebo.
She stepped inside—and froze.
A man sat at the wooden table, his gray hair catching the last bit of daylight. He looked up slowly, sadness deep in his tired eyes.
“Hello, Dorothy,” he said softly.
Dorothy’s breath caught. “Robert?”
Before she could react, another voice came from behind. “We deserve the truth, Mom.”
She turned sharply. Miley and Ryan stood there, their eyes filled with confusion and hurt.
“You lied to us,” Ryan said, his voice shaking. “You said Dad disappeared, but that wasn’t true, was it?”
Dorothy felt her heart break. “I was protecting you.”
Miley’s voice cracked. “No more lies, Mom. Just tell us the truth.”
Robert stood, his face filled with guilt. “It wasn’t your mother who lied. It was me.”
A heavy silence fell. Robert took a deep, shaky breath. “I left. I was afraid—of debts, of responsibility. I thought running away would make things easier. Dorothy begged me to stay, but I didn’t listen. She let you believe I disappeared because she wanted to protect you from the truth.”
Tears welled in Miley’s eyes. “Dad…”
Robert’s voice trembled. “Every day since then, I’ve regretted it.”
Miley and Ryan turned to Dorothy, understanding and sorrow filling their expressions.
Dorothy’s voice was soft but strong. “We can’t change the past. But we can choose now. Let’s forgive each other and start again.”
Miley wiped her tears. “Mom, we’re so sorry.”
Ryan nodded. “Can you forgive us?”
Dorothy smiled gently. “Always.”
Robert watched longingly. Dorothy met his gaze. “If you’re ready, maybe we can all find a way forward.”
Robert nodded, his eyes filled with hope. “Thank you.”
As the night deepened, the old gazebo held their whispered promises of forgiveness. Dorothy’s birthday had brought pain—but also healing. A second chance wrapped in love and understanding.
