Ivy’s POV

I stood by the counter mixing the last batch of flour.

Rick’s laughter echoed from outside, bright and unguarded. It was his birthday today, five years old. I should have been happy. I wanted to be.

“Alright,” I murmured, forcing a smile as I turned toward the small table. “Your favorite, strawberry cream cake, just the way you like it.”

He leaned on the doorway, cheeks flushed from running, curls sticking to his forehead. “With honey on top?”

“Of course,” I said, ...