Chapter 6
It started because I baked a cake.
An apology cake. Parenting was hard. I was tired. He was difficult. So I tried to show affection through sugar.
Chocolate, whipped cream, fresh berries. Gorgeous.
I presented it to him like a peace offering.
He eyed it. "You did something wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"You're trying to distract me with food. What did you do?"
"I made you a cake, Elias, not a distraction. This is affection. Normal people give gifts."
He squinted. "What do you want from me?"
"...You to eat it and smile?"
He sliced the cake with surgical precision. Ate one forkful. Chewed slowly.
Then:
"It's good."
I stared.
"...That's it?"
He met my eyes, solemn. "Don't cry."
"I'm not crying."
"You look like you might."
I was.
That night, he left a single forkful of cake outside my room on a saucer.
Like tribute.
Like an olive branch.
Like he was saying: I'll stay.
I didn't touch it.
I just smiled.
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 6