Chapter 7: A Birthday Wish

The 28th-floor conference room was wrapped in a soft golden glow, filtered through half-drawn curtains. Light spilled across the polished table, casting shadows that moved like time itself, quietly flowing in the eyes of the man seated at its head.

Leon Sterling—CEO of Sterling Corporation—listened intently to the quarterly financial report, though his expression remained curiously still.

Between his fingers, a fountain pen spun slowly. The faint click-click of the cap sounded uneven—like the breathing of someone trying to stay calm.

“This month’s revenue exceeded expectations by 18%,” the CFO announced, clearly pleased. “I suggest allocating 10% of it to the Young Hearts Fund—for the orphanages on the city’s outskirts.”

“Fifteen percent,” Leon cut in, without even looking up.

Silence rippled across the room.

“Sir… are you certain? Fifteen might impact our new investment fund—”

“Those children have no one investing in them,” he said quietly, a shadow passing through his eyes. “They need a chance, not margins.”

A silent nod circled the room, followed by the shuffling of papers. No one dared argue further.

The meeting ended in order. Leon collected the documents and arranged them neatly—an old habit born of needing to control every variable. He was just about to leave when the door to the office swung open.

A pair of slender high heels stopped at the edge of the carpet.

“Leon.”

He looked up. A woman stood there—long black hair cascading over her shoulders, her posture confident, though her eyes glinted with calculation.

“We should get married.”

His brows drew together.

“Your son’s almost five, isn’t he? He needs a complete family. And I… I’m the best choice you have.”

Leon stood and approached, his eyes cold—like frost on glass.

“Do you truly think you’re the right person… or just selling your next pitch?”

“Leon…”

“Don’t use my son to justify your ambition.” His voice was sharper now. “Family isn’t a business deal.”

The woman clenched her purse tightly, her expression flashing irritation—but Leon had already turned away, ending the conversation.

Click.

The door opened softly. A small figure burst in like a gentle autumn breeze.

“Daddy!”

Leon crouched down, instantly wrapping his son in his arms.

“I missed you! Right after school, I told the driver to bring me here,” Ethan grinned, his plump cheeks glowing with joy.

Leon’s gaze fell on the drawing in Ethan’s hands—a simple house, and inside it, three figures: a man, a child… and a faceless woman.

He froze. His fingers tightened around the paper.

“You drew this?”

Ethan looked up, eyes the same steel gray as his father’s.

“Yup! That’s you, me, and Mommy. We’re happy together.”

Leon’s heart clenched as though an invisible thread had been pulled too tight. Despite all the love, care, and effort he’d poured into raising Ethan… was it still not enough? Somewhere deep inside, his son still longed for the piece that had always been missing.

“It’s beautiful,” Leon murmured, pulling Ethan close, as if trying to shield him from a void even he had never managed to fill.

But Ethan gently pushed out of his father’s arms and turned toward the door. His innocent expression shifted the moment he spotted the woman approaching. Her crimson dress, thick makeup, and overly sugary smile set off instant alarm.

“Oh, Leon, what a coincidence…” she chimed, her voice syrupy sweet, though her eyes betrayed a hunger for attention.

Leon frowned slightly, but before he could respond, Ethan tugged his shirt and stepped in front of him—one hand raised to cover half his face, the other waving dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying bug.

“Daddy, I don’t like her. She looks... fake.”

There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in Ethan’s voice. He didn’t know the rules of adult politeness—but he could read sincerity better than most grownups.

An awkward silence hung heavy in the room. The woman’s face flushed crimson—part anger, part humiliation.

Leon gave a small nod. One arm wrapped protectively around his son, the other politely but firmly gestured toward the door.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans with my son today. We need a bit of father-son time.”

There was nothing left for her to say. Lips pursed, she turned on her heels and left, trailing a cloud of indignation… and a misplaced lipstick stain beneath the afternoon light.

Watching her figure vanish around the corner, Ethan looked up at his dad and giggled, pride twinkling in his eyes.

Only when it was just the two of them again did the boy’s gaze soften—clear and carefree, as though nothing had ever disturbed it.

“Daddy…”

“Yes?”

“My birthday’s coming soon, right?” Ethan asked eagerly, with a hint of hesitation.

Leon chuckled, pulling him close. “That’s right. My little guy’s growing up so fast. What do you want this year?”

Ethan tilted his head thoughtfully, then looked up with eyes sparkling like a wish kept in secret for a long time.

“I want to celebrate… with both you and Mommy. At Ethan’s Oven. Like a real family.”

Leon stopped cold—like a gust of wind had just blown straight through his chest.

His gaze wavered for a breath, heavy with memory. Ethan’s Oven—that wasn’t a name he had come up with. It was her bakery. Camila’s. A small haven she poured her heart into, where sweetness lived even on the most bitter days.

He had never stepped foot in it again.

Yet here his son stood, asking for that very place—with that very name—spoken in the purest tone. As if he had unknowingly stirred the dust on a forgotten part of his father’s soul.

It wasn’t just a bakery. It was the last trace of a woman Leon had never truly let go. The mother Ethan had never been loved—but who, somehow, still lived vividly in the quiet corners of both their hearts.

Leon didn’t answer right away. His throat felt dry. And something inside him—regret, longing, maybe even hope—began to stir from its long sleep.

“As long as you and Mommy blow out the candles with me,” Ethan added softly, his tiny hand slipping into Leon’s. “We don’t need a big cake. I just want both of you there.”

Leon tightened his grip gently and nodded, though no words came.

Within him, a quiet storm had begun to rise.

And in his eyes, a silent promise had just started to tremble.