She looked at the cake, as everyone wished her a happy birthday. Hands resting on her lap, she wondered. Would there be any more happy days? Birthday or no? She didn’t want to be here; every smile hurt. Each candle evoked the darkness she was living in. Each person present was a painful reminder that the one she wanted here more than anyone else wasn’t.
She hated the cake, what it meant: one birthday without him. She hated the party… the candles. Everything.
“Honey, blow your candles.”
She stood and walked away, leaving her mother to apologize. It may have been too early. Some whispers: they probably felt it was long enough. It was 2 years after all. But it still felt as raw now as it did before. She missed him.
In response to the Daily Post writing prompt Cake