Chapter 20 - A Different Birthday
A year later, Ethan turned sixteen. Sarah planned no crowded party, rented lights, or expensive cake. They ordered pizza, bought a small chocolate cake from the bakery down the street, and let Lily put three candles on it because she said one for every year since the fire would be too many.
Ethan laughed at one of her jokes. The sound surprised him, and then he let it stay.
Before they cut the cake, he asked Lily if she wanted to stand beside him. She thought about it, looked at Sarah, and nodded. She kept her rabbit in one hand and left a careful space between their shoulders.
"I want to say something," Ethan began. His voice shook, but he didn't look away. "Last year I hurt you because I was angry and embarrassed. You didn't deserve it. I can't promise I'll never get angry again. I can promise that being angry is never a reason to hurt you. If you need space, I'll give it to you. If you don't want me near you, I'll listen."
Lily studied him. "You have to mean it even when you're mad."
"I do."
She considered that, then placed the rabbit on the table between them. It wasn't a hug or a perfect ending. It was a small invitation to keep trying.
Later, Ethan wrote a letter to his father. He told Daniel about the truth, counseling, Mason, and Lily's rules. He admitted he still felt guilty, but he was learning not to use guilt as an excuse to hate himself or hurt other people.
Sarah found him folding the letter beside the kitchen table. "Do you think Dad would forgive me?" he asked.
"I can't speak for him," she said. "But he believed people had to own what they did—and that nobody was beyond becoming better."
Ethan nodded. His phone buzzed with a school reminder about counseling. The old number was blocked, and the case had reached its formal conclusion. He set the phone facedown without flinching.
The next morning, Lily asked him to help her practice a song on the keyboard. He sat beside her, hands resting on his knees until she invited him to play.
May you like
Sarah listened from the doorway as the uneven notes became a tune. She had once believed saving her son meant keeping the truth away from him. Now she knew better. She could not erase his choices, Lily's memory, or Daniel's death. But she could tell the truth, protect her daughter, hold her son accountable, and stay beside him while he learned to live with what he had done.
This time, that was enough.
