Edith's gaze shifted downward.
Earl stood in front of her empty-handed.
He hadn’t brought anything back.
The anger that had briefly flared in her eyes faded just as quickly.
Earl's mouth opened and closed, fumbling for words, but none came.
At that moment, everything became painfully clear.
Earl had forgotten her birthday.
Edith stood up, her emotions unraveled.
"You promised to come home early," she said, breaking free from his grasp. "I waited for you all day."
"I thought something had happened—maybe a car accident. I almost called the police."
"But then I realized," her tears finally fell, "I couldn’t even reach anyone close to you."
The tall man before her stood in silence, his expression lost and helpless.
"Edith…"
Her voice was steady, though her heart trembled.
"Earl," she said again, "you made me a person who only has you in the world."
"You can love anyone else, but you’ve taken away the possibility of me loving anyone else."
"If you can’t love me, don’t give me the hope of being with you."
"You’ve indulged me. And now, what’s the difference between me and the dogs you raise?"
"Dogs aren’t allowed to touch other people’s food, and I’m not allowed to engage with others."
"If you’re happy, you can promise to be with me forever, and when you feel like it, you can find me a new mother."
Earl was silent, struggling to respond.
"Edith, it’s not like that."
"You can call me—"
His words faltered, weak and empty.
Edith sniffled, wiping her tears.
"Where did you go last night?"
She shook her phone in his direction, a bitter smile forming on her lips.
"Look at your phone. Instagram notifications—are there at least five hundred messages from me?"
Earl hesitated, pulling out his phone. He stared at the screen, filled with her messages, and realized it had been on silent mode.
His face twisted in frustration.
Edith asked again, voice steady.
"Where did you go last night?"
Earl poked his cheek with the tip of his tongue—a habit he always resorted to when uncertain.
Edith swiftly snatched the phone from his hand.
Her facial recognition unlocked the device, revealing the messages she had sent.
Edith Baby: What a happy evening!
Edith Baby: Hahahaha, let’s go to this bar together next time. The atmosphere is amazing.
Edith Baby: Let’s ask Edith to come along. She’s an adult now. Seeing more of the world will help her avoid being easily deceived.
Earl: It’s not safe to let her go.
Edith raised an eyebrow, looking directly at him. Her gaze was sharp, cutting through hesitation.
"My birthday," she pointed toward the table behind her, where the dishes sat cold.
She lifted the injured gauze-wrapped hand and showed it to him. "I cooked this for you. You said you’d come home, even if it rained knives from the sky."
A tear slid down her cheek as she smiled bitterly.
"Your knife is to take Edith to a bar?"
With a dismissive gesture, she swiped the phone away and let it fall to the floor.
It landed on the ground, the plastic bear on the phone case cracking upon impact.
That bear had been a gift—a moment they had shared together. Edith had cherished it, proudly displaying it as a symbol of their bond. Now, it lay broken at its feet.
