CHAPTER 4 – THE CAKE ON THE FLOOR
Sofia remembered every second of the ruined party in the strange, sharp way children remember pain.
She remembered the smell of vanilla frosting.
She remembered the pink candles lined up on the entry table.
She remembered Camila’s heels clicking down the stairs.
She remembered asking if Daddy had called again.
She remembered Camila finishing her champagne before answering.
“He is busy,” Camila said.
Sofia nodded because she knew grown-ups were busy. Her father was busy all the time. But he always came back when he promised, even if late. He kissed her forehead at night and said, “A promise can be delayed, princess, but not abandoned.”
So she waited.
She wore the pink tulle skirt he bought from the little boutique near the park. It was too big and puffy and made it hard to sit, but Sofia loved how it made her feel like a cupcake cloud. Her white T-shirt had a tiny bow at the collar. Her stuffed bunny, Snowdrop, wore a matching ribbon Sofia tied herself.
Camila circled the foyer slowly, looking at the balloons and decorations as if inspecting damage.
“This is too much,” she said.
Sofia hugged Snowdrop. “Daddy said I could have pink everything.”
“Your father feels guilty.”
Sofia did not understand. “For what?”
Camila looked at her then, and the smile she wore for guests was gone.
“For not giving you a real mother anymore.”
The sentence made Sofia’s stomach hurt.
She whispered, “I have a mommy.”
“No,” Camila said softly. “You had one.”
Sofia’s eyes filled.
Camila seemed satisfied by that reaction, but only briefly. She lifted the cake knife, then set it down again without cutting. Her gaze moved to the cake.
“Do you know how much this cost?”
Sofia shook her head.
“More than a child who cries all week over a party deserves.”
“I didn’t cry all week.”
“You cried when the pink balloons were late.”
“Only because I thought Daddy forgot.”
Camila stepped closer. “Your father has forgotten many things because of you.”
Sofia clutched Snowdrop so hard the bunny’s stitched nose pressed into her palm. “That’s not true.”
The slap did not come. Camila was too careful for that. She rarely left easy evidence.
Instead, she picked up the cake.
For a moment, Sofia thought she was moving it to the table.
Then Camila let it fall.
The sound was soft and terrible.
The cake hit the marble upside down, frosting bursting outward, sugar flowers breaking across the floor. Sofia screamed—not loudly at first, more like a breath knocked from her body. She dropped to her knees and reached toward it, but Camila caught the edge of her pink skirt with one heel and pressed it into the frosting.
“Look what you did,” Camila said.
“I didn’t!”
“You made a scene.”
“I didn’t!”
Sofia tried to pull her skirt free. The tulle tore. Frosting smeared up the layers. She began crying fully then, too hurt to be quiet.
Camila crouched near her, champagne glass still in hand.
“If your father asks,” she said, voice calm, “you dropped it while throwing a tantrum.”
Sofia shook her head.
Camila leaned closer. “If you make him choose between your tears and my word, you will learn something very sad about fathers.”
That frightened Sofia more than the cake.
Because she loved Julian so completely that the idea of him not believing her felt worse than being yelled at.
So when Camila went upstairs, Sofia stayed on the floor, holding Snowdrop against her chest, waiting for her father and dreading him at the same time.
Now he had come.
May you like
Now he was holding her.
Now the truth sat between them on the marble like a smashed birthday wish.
