That night, they ate together in the most expensive kitchen in the neighborhood — homemade food made from groceries Angela had bought herself. Eight-year-old Lucas told terrible jokes that everyone laughed at anyway. Noah fell asleep at the table with frosting on his cheek.
Michael blew out the candle and made a wish.
For the first time in years, he actually had one.
After that night, things began to change.
Michael started coming home earlier. At first he made excuses. “I need to review reports from home.” Then he stopped pretending.
Sometimes Angela had to bring the kids because she couldn’t afford childcare. He found them doing homework at his dining table, exploring the garden, chasing koi fish near the pond.
One Saturday, Caleb asked if he knew how to play soccer.
Michael hadn’t kicked a ball in twenty years.
He tripped twice and accidentally scored on himself.
The boys cheered like he’d won the World Cup.
That night, he looked in the mirror, grass on his designer shoes, smiling.
He didn’t fully recognize the man staring back.
Conversations with Angela came slowly.