In that moment, I let go of every complaint I had about Samuel. At least he remembered my birthday. At least he brought a gift.
That alone felt like enough.
When he came back out, he held a beautifully wrapped white dress in his hands. Without thinking, I reached out to receive it.
But Samuel walked right past me and placed the dress in Wilma’s arms. “Aunt Wilma, congratulations on officially joining the Writers Association. Your dream finally came true.”
Just like that, all the warmth that had bloomed inside me vanished. Joy turned into something small and pitiful, almost laughable.
Then, Martin smiled mysteriously and said, “I’ve prepared a gift too, guess what it is?"
I didn’t bother to guess. Of course, it was also for Wilma.
The quiet hope I had clung to shattered completely as he pulled out a set of keys and a house deed. "The villa at The Timberline, it’s yours now. Do you like it?"
Everyone knew The Timberline; a luxury estate in Andale, where even the smallest villa cost several million.
Martin was a professor at both Penbrooke and Summit University—well-paid, but not wealthy. This home must have cost him everything.
Even Wilma teared up. “Martin… thank you.”
He smiled and said softly, “No need to say that. My brother left too early. Samuel and I are your family now.”
Samuel nodded, gently holding Wilma’s hand. “Yes, Aunt Wilma. To me, you’ve always been like a mother.”
I watched the three of them embrace warmly, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. And in that moment, my heart turned completely cold.
Samuel, still visibly moved, offered to cut the cake. He carefully placed the slices with the little figurines; one for Martin, one for Wilma.
Before I could say anything, he turned to me and said, "Mom, it’s Aunt Wilma’s big day. Don’t take it the wrong way."
Wilma took a bite, then paused, her expression cooling.
“It’s sweet,” she said slowly. “But the shape…”
Her eyes scanned the pink frosting and little decorations. “It’s a bit vulgar.”
Samuel sighed and threw me a sharp look. “Mom, you know Aunt Wilma doesn’t like these kinds of gaudy colors. Never mind, I’ll order her another one.”
Her new cake arrived swiftly. An elegant white swan design, perfectly frosted and delicately flavored.
The cream was rich and smooth, light on the tongue.
But to me, it tasted strangely bitter. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.
Seeing my reaction, Samuel’s tone turned impatient. “Mom, can you not ruin the mood? It's Aunt Wilma’s day. If it’s just about the grapes, I’ll buy you some, what’s the big deal?”
I wiped my face and swallowed the last bite of my cake.
“No need. Today’s my 56th birthday. Thank you… for the cake.”
Silence settled in the room like a fog. Martin and Samuel exchanged a glance.
“Well... you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Martin muttered.
Wilma never had to say a word, yet her birthdays were always remembered, celebrated with gifts, surprises and thoughtful gestures.
In the midst of our conversation, the sound of my baby grandson’s cries rose from the other room.
Samuel frowned, his voice firm. “Mom, Calvin is awake. Go check on him.”
I stood up, not to tend to my grandson, but to return to the bedroom and start packing.
Just a few essentials: some toiletries, two sets of clothes. There wasn’t much to take. Even a small suitcase felt too large.
Then, my gaze fell on the wall above the bed.
Our wedding photo used to hang there. I couldn’t remember exactly when it disappeared, then replaced by a framed calligraphy piece written by Wilma.
[This heart never stopped yearning, for the man I met after it was already promised away.]
Late at night, Martin would often sit and stare at it in silence, as if those words held a story only he understood.
