Camilla's POV
The words cut deeper coming from my six-year-old daughter than they should have.
"Mommy, do you think Daddy forgot about me again?"
Joy's voice was barely a whisper, but it sliced through the kitchen silence like a blade. I gripped the edge of the sink tighter, watching soap bubbles swirl down the drain from her untouched birthday breakfast.
I turned around to find her perched on the living room sofa, legs swinging in those patent leather shoes we'd picked out together. The pink party dress she'd insisted on wearing since dawn was still perfectly pressed, still waiting for a celebration that might never come.
"Of course not, sweetheart." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. "Daddy's probably just stuck in traffic. You know how busy the roads get."
Joy glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Six-fifteen. Tom had promised to be home by five.
"That's what you said last time," she murmured, turning back to stare out the window. "When he missed my dance recital. And when he forgot parent-teacher night."
My chest tightened. She was keeping score, filing away every disappointment like evidence in a case I couldn't defend.
I walked over and sat beside her, smoothing down her dark curls. "Sometimes grown-ups have to handle important things that take longer than expected. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you."
She nodded, but her shoulders sagged. "Can we wait a little longer? Maybe he's on his way."
The hope in her voice nearly broke me. "Of course, baby. We'll wait."
But as the minutes crawled by, that hope began to curdle into something uglier. I pulled out my phone and called Tom's number. Straight to voicemail. Again.
By seven o'clock, Joy's eyelids were drooping. She'd refused to change out of her dress, clinging to the possibility that he might still walk through that door with an armload of presents and a reasonable explanation.
"Sienna," I called to our housekeeper, who appeared in the doorway with concerned eyes.
"Yes, Mrs. Marvin?"
"Could you help Joy get ready for bed? It's getting late."
Joy's face crumpled, but she didn't protest. She slid off the couch and trudged upstairs behind Sienna, her shiny shoes clicking against the hardwood with each defeated step.
I remained on the sofa, phone clenched in my hand. I typed out a message: "Where are you? Joy waited all day. You promised her." Then I deleted it and typed another: "Call me." Then deleted that too.
What was the point? Tom would have some excuse ready, some crisis at work that conveniently arose right when his family needed him most.
Sienna returned within the hour. "She's in bed, ma'am. Wouldn't let me take off the dress, though. Said she wanted to be ready in case Daddy came to tuck her in."
My heart shattered a little more. "Thank you, Sienna. You can head home."
I climbed the stairs and peered into Joy's room. She was curled up under her comforter, still in that pink dress, clutching the stuffed elephant Tom had given her as a toddler. One of the few gifts he'd actually remembered to buy himself.
"Sleep tight, birthday girl," I whispered, brushing a kiss across her forehead. "I'm sorry he wasn't here."
Downstairs, I paced. Nine o'clock became ten, then eleven. I rehearsed what I'd say when he finally walked through that door. I imagined throwing his things on the lawn, changing the locks, calling my lawyer. But beneath the anger was something more pathetic: the part of me that still hoped he had a good reason.
The sound of keys jingling in the lock made me freeze. It was past midnight.
Tom stepped inside, loosening his tie like he was coming home from any ordinary day at the office. When he saw me standing in the foyer, he barely blinked.
"You're up late," he said, hanging his jacket on the coat rack.
"Where were you?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
He sighed heavily, like I was an annoying obligation. "Working. The Morrison deal is falling apart, and I had to put out fires all day."
"All day? Until midnight?"
"Camilla, please. I'm exhausted. Can we not do this tonight?"
"Do what? Ask my husband why he missed his daughter's birthday? Ask why you couldn't answer one phone call or send one text to let us know you weren't coming?"
Something flickered across his features. Guilt. Recognition. The realization that he'd forgotten entirely.
"She sat on that couch for hours, Tom. Hours. Dressed up and waiting for you to keep your promise. She asked me if you'd forgotten again, and I lied to her face because I couldn't bear to see her heart break twice."
"I didn't forget," he said, but the words rang hollow. "I got caught up in meetings, and time got away from me."
"Bullshit." The profanity felt foreign on my lips, but I didn't care. "You forgot. Just like you forgot her recital, her parent conference, her first day of school. When did your own child become such a low priority?"
Tom's jaw clenched. "I provide for this family. I work my ass off so you and Joy can live comfortably. I'm sorry if that means I can't be perfect all the time."
"Perfect?" I laughed bitterly. "I'm not asking for perfect. I'm asking for present. I'm asking for the bare minimum of showing up for your daughter once in a while."
He moved to walk past me, dismissing the conversation like he dismissed everything else that required emotional effort. But as he brushed by, I caught something that made my blood freeze.
A scent that didn't belong. Sweet. Floral. Definitely not mine.
And there, on the collar of his white dress shirt, was a smudge of coral-colored lipstick.
My world tilted sideways. Everything suddenly made sense. The late nights. The missed calls. The way he looked right through me like I was invisible.
"Who is she?"
The question fell from my lips like a stone into still water, sending ripples through the silence between us.