The Stevenson mansion looked nothing like a home that morning.
Sunlight broke through the curtains in pale ribbons, glinting off polished marble and crystal vases, but the air felt heavy stale, cold, and loveless.
Harry padded into the dining hall, bare feet soft on the floor, clutching his battered toy rabbit against his chest. He wore a simple blue shirt Kay had thrown at him that morning, no birthday ribbons, no bright colors.
It was his fifth birthday.
He had whispered it to himself when he woke: I'm five now… Grandma would bake cake… Daddy would sing…
But Grandma wasn't here. And Daddy didn't sing anymore.
David sat at the head of the table, coffee cooling untouched beside him, a newspaper held up like a wall. His face was tired, shadowed with stubble.
Harry stopped a few steps away. His voice was timid, lisp still soft from babyhood.
"Dad… today's my birthday."
David lowered the newspaper just enough to glance at him. His eyes softened for a split second, but then he folded them back into distant blankness.
"Oh," he said vaguely, "yes… happy birthday, Harry."
Harry waited—waited for a smile, for arms to lift him, for even the smallest spark of the old warmth. But David only turned another page.
A lump swelled in the boy's throat. He hugged his rabbit tighter and whispered, "Thank you, Dada."
Kay strolled in then, the rhythmic tap of her heels breaking the silence. She looked immaculate in a silk dress, hair pinned with cold precision. She looked at Harry with a smile that never reached her eyes.
"Well, if it isn't the little birthday boy," she cooed, but her tone dripped with something sharp beneath the sweetness.
Harry looked up, hope flickering. "Miss Kay… cake?"
Her smile twisted. "Cake? For you?"
Harry nodded, small eyes shining.
She crouched, placing manicured hands on his tiny shoulders, her grip just a little too tight. "Sweetheart, cakes are for good boys. Not for little pests who make messes and cry all night."
Harry's lip trembled.
Kay straightened, brushing invisible dust from her dress. "Eat your breakfast quietly," she said, already turning away.
David didn't look up.
Time dragged on.
Kay watched the boy out of the corner of her eye as he picked at his toast. Five years old, yet still clinging to that ridiculous toy. She had thought marriage into the Stevenson family would elevate her life, and it had but the brat was in the way. He was a constant shadow of the first wife, the ever‑beloved Maylie, and Dora, that old hag who dared to die before Kay could truly control her.
Kay's lips curled. She had plans. Plans that had taken weeks of quiet scheming and calls behind David's back.
She had spoken to a boarding school if you could even call it that on the outskirts of the city. Peeling paint, crowded dormitories, teachers who didn't ask questions. A place where children were forgotten, where their cries were drowned out by the clatter of a thousand others. It was cheap, humiliating, and perfect.
She imagined the boy there, shivering in a thin uniform, far away from this mansion, far away from David's eyes. He'd be out of her hair. Out of her life.
A smile ghosted across her lips as she sipped her tea.
That evening, Harry sat alone on the cold steps leading to the garden, knees pulled to his chest, watching the sky change colors. No balloons. No friends. No laughter.
A single candle flickered on a plain cupcake Lara, the old helper, might have baked if she were still alive. But there was nothing. Just silence.
"Grandmma… I five now," he whispered to the wind, imagining Miss Dora's arms wrapping around him. "Grandmma… you see me?"
From inside, Kay watched him through the glass. Her nails tapped rhythmically on the window frame. "Pathetic," she muttered under her breath.
Later that night, when David sat in his study with a glass of whiskey, Kay leaned against the doorway, arms folded, tone deceptively sweet.
"Darling," she began, "have you thought about Harry's schooling?"
David looked up, weary. "He's still young."
"Five is hardly young. And honestly, with your schedule, with my… responsibilities… don't you think he deserves more structure?"
David rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Kay. I can't think about that right now."
"That's the problem, David," she said, stepping in, her perfume trailing like smoke. "You don't think. He needs discipline, guidance. There's a wonderful academy very exclusive ..." she lied smoothly, "that will take him in immediately."
David stared into his glass. "A boarding school?"
"Yes," she purred. "He'll have everything. Teachers. Friends. No… distractions."
For a moment, something flickered in David's eyes hesitation, guilt.
"He's… only five," he said softly.
"And you're only human," Kay replied. "You can't be his father and his caretaker. He needs to grow up."
David looked away, jaw tight. He didn't answer.
Kay's plan unfolded in shadows.
Two days later, she made a call when David wasn't home. She arranged the paperwork, paid the minimal fees, and told them to expect a "difficult child." She smiled as she wrote down Harry's name.
She imagined him in that crowded dormitory, sobbing in the night, no one to hug him. And she laughed quietly to herself.
Back in the mansion…
Harry tiptoed into his father's study that night, the halls dark and too big for his little frame. He held out a crayon drawing himself holding David's hand, with Grandma Dora smiling from the sky.
"Dada… I drawed this… for you."
David barely glanced up. "Later, Harry. Daddy's busy."
Harry's small hand dropped, the paper fluttering to the floor.
"O‑okay," he whispered, backing away.
Kay watched from the shadows of the hallway, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. The boy would be gone soon, and David… David would be hers alone, wrapped in grief and guilt, too blind to see what she had done.
That night, as Harry curled up in bed with his rabbit, a single tear slipped down his cheek.
"Gamma," he whispered into the darkness, "I don't wanna go nowhere… please tell Daddy… please…"
But no voice came back.
And downstairs, Kay signed the final form with a flourish, her smile sharp as a blade.
"Happy birthday, little Harry," she murmured to herself. "Enjoy your last nights here."