I remember thinking she just wanted attention. That she wanted to look like the bigger person. I told myself it didn’t matter.
My dad stayed for dinner, but he barely spoke. He ate slowly, barely touching his food, eyes distant. I didn’t ask what was wrong. Part of me didn’t want to know.
After dinner, we gathered around the table to cut the cake—the cake I had tried to reject.
As soon as the knife slid through the center, something hard clinked against the plate.
Everyone froze.
Inside the cake, wrapped carefully in plastic, was a small silver key.
My hands started to shake.
I looked at my dad, confused. His face had gone pale. Not angry—hurt. Deeply, quietly hurt.
“That was supposed to be a surprise,” he said softly. “It’s the key to your first car.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I couldn’t afford it on my own,” he continued. “Sarah added her savings. Every dollar. I didn’t even ask her. She said you’d need it for college. For independence.”
