A Bittersweet Birthday

Chapter 13. A Bittersweet Birthday

The first thought he had after waking up in the morning was, 'It feels nice'.

His emotions were no longer all over the place. Nor was his chest full of lead, weighing him down. The previous day's guilt and exhaustion were long gone, leaving him light and rejuvenated. And he was sure that he wouldn't cry over it anymore. An oddity, considering he had killed three teenagers yesterday, however indirect his involvement might be.

'Maybe because they deserved it, as mum said. After all, they tried to kill me once. It is only right that I get even and try to kill them too. It was unfortunate—for them—that I succeeded where they failed.' He mused, his face pressed against his mum's blood-red hair, the hint of rosemary making him sigh in comfort.

Though a frown flashed over his face, 'Not that it was intentional. I just wanted to scar them permanently. To leave my mark on them, like they did to me. A simple death was far more merciful than a hundred years of chronic depression. Maybe that's why I don't feel so bad anymore. My revenge ended up being more timid than I had wanted. Well, what is done is done; no use feeling disappointed about it.'

While there was still doubt about whether he had done the right thing or not, it was nowhere near as overwhelming or all-encompassing as before.

He buried the lingering guilt in the deep recesses of his mind and focused on the nice feelings.

And these nice feelings didn't just come from mental relief. There was a physical aspect to it too.

His mum was curled up against him with her knees drawn in, her bare back and his chest flushed together.

He only wished he wasn't wearing a t-shirt. Then he could have revelled in her body's unfiltered heat.

Though the epicentre of these 'nice feelings' was a bit lower.

The intense sensations emanating from his nether region were undeniable. It was as if his entire being was consumed by a powerful surge of desire, causing his morning wood to press forcefully against the softness of her voluptuous rear.

His blood coursed through his veins, propelled by a rapid and erratic heartbeat.

This was no ordinary morning wood; it was an unabashed, shameless erection.

But who could blame him? Anyone in his position would have experienced the same overwhelming response when holding a nearly naked woman in their arms, their familial ties be damned. And she was no ordinary woman; she was undoubtedly the epitome of beauty, surpassing everyone else.

Until recently, she had been the big spoon and held him while they slept. But now that he was as tall as her, he had requested that they change their sleeping position to allow him to become the big spoon.

She had readily agreed, eager to be snuggled in his arms.

If other people saw them now, they'd have a hard time explaining this situation.

Thankfully, they didn't have to explain it to anyone.

She mumbled something in her sleep and pushed her shorts-clad arse onto his crotch, draining the blood from his head and pumping it downwards.

He bit back a moan, the pleasure making him delirious. His hand roamed over her hip before sliding down the curve of her waist and onto her smooth belly, steadily creeping upwards towards her bare chest.

You'd think she would finally decide to sleep separately after waking up with his roaring pecker nestled between her arse cheeks.

But—

"It's fine. You're a growing boy. It's a natural reaction. I'm not prude enough to banish you to the uncomfortable couch for popping a stiffy." That was what she had said with an amused grin.

And he had just blushed and squirmed under her gaze, of course.

Over the months, he had gotten somewhat used to this privilege. As used to, one can get in his unprecedented position.

He had remained mindful not to be grabby, his hands remaining on the safer parts—her waist or her belly.

But he was a horny teenager. So the desire to grab tits was always there in the back of his mind, no matter if the tits were of his own mother. Still, he had remained a dutiful son and never attempted to take more than what he was already getting.

He was happy enough that he was getting the opportunity to hold someone as attractive as Lily Evans in his sleep.

There was no need to be greedy.

…

But today, he was feeling risky. And greedy.

His fingers lightly sank into the expanse of her round breast, and he kneaded it.

It was literally more than a handful. His hand would need to grow to a monster size to even contain it.

He sucked in a quivering breath, her breasts too majestic to be done justice with mere words.

Soft and pillowy they were, and yet they held some firmness to them, retaining a desirable shape when not groped.

His stiff cock trembled, buried between her arse and his crotch. It shook like a volcano before the eruption, ready to hurl out everything in a bombastic explosion of heat and pressure.

Slowly, unconsciously, his hips moved.

Gyrating.

Grinding.

While he fondled her large tits and his crotch squashed over her plump behind, her eyes remained close, her breathing artificially even.

Even though there were a couple of layers of fabrics between them, he could feel the heat of their skins coalescing and mingling together. He could almost imagine the feeling he would experience if she wasn't wearing shorts and underwear.

His eyelids shut tight as the pressure reached its crescendo, and the throbbing of his cock became almost painful.

He drove his hips hard on her arse and clutched onto her boob as the pleasure flooded his veins, leaving his body tingling all over, offering him some relief. He came inside his shorts, his lips opening and shaping into a silent O, her red hair getting into his mouth.

But he didn't mind; he was too busy panting in her hair.

It was as the pleasure ebbed away that he realised what he had done.

He freed her breast from his tight grasp, his fingers no longer digging into her flesh, and his thumb no longer circling around her dark pink nipple.

Pulling his hand away from her, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the maroon canopy.

It was nice.

He didn't feel bad.

He didn't feel too guilty.

Why should he, when his mum was faking her sleep and didn't try to stop him? If she was really against him squeezing her boobs, then she'd have slapped his hand the moment it took hold of her chest.

It was a minute later that she turned towards him and yawned. "Had a good sleep?"

She smiled motherly, not even acknowledging what just happened.

"Yep. Good morning, mum."

Sitting up, she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, still acting as if everything was normal.

"Good morning. Do you feel okay now?" She asked, concern clear in her tone.

He nodded, pushing his back against the headrest and straightening his legs towards the foot of the bed. "Surprisingly, I feel fine. I'd have thought I'd be sad. I should be sad."

"They deserved it. You must have finally realised and gotten over it." She patted his head before sliding off the bed and moving towards the bathroom. "I'll take a quick shower. You can use it after me."

"Alright." The shower here was far better than the one in his room, bigger and more luxurious. She had a porcelain bathtub for Merlin sake, so there was no use comparing them. This was the reason why he sometimes used her bathroom instead of his own.

Usually, Harry would turn his gaze when she undressed in front of him, embarrassed and exasperated by her selective nudist attitude.

But something was different with him today.

He ogled at her as she peeled off her shorts and knickers, baring her full round cheeks to his eyes. He even caught a glimpse of her lower lips as she bent forward.

By the time she sashayed to the bathroom, Harry was sporting another boner. Only if the bathroom was facing the bed, then he could have enjoyed watching her get wet. He could have leered as water bounced over her curves. But this wasn't their home. So even though the door remained open, he couldn't see what was happening inside.

Well, he could just walk over and peep in.

He shook his head and slumped back on the bed.

'I shouldn't test her patience anymore. Just because she is willing to act oblivious doesn't mean she wants to be stared at like a piece of meat. I don't even know if she is amused, irritated, or something else. Who am I kidding? She's mum. The only reason she hasn't castrated me yet is because I'm her son. If I were someone else—" He shuddered and decided against finishing that line of thought.

Seriously, he was surprised by his own boldness. While his feelings towards his mum had been tinged with lust for more than a year now, this was the first time he had acted so openly. It was fortunate that it didn't blow up in his face, and she played along instead of smacking him on the head.

Now the question was, how far could he push her without breaking the limit? How long would she play oblivious? Because he was sure she would punch his teeth in if he pulled down her undies and shoved his cock in, no matter if he was her beloved son or not.

'Maybe I'll test it in the summer holidays.' He thought as his lips stretched into a wicked grin.

Was it wrong to lust after his own mother? Yes.

Would it stop him? Hell no.

Some time later, she stepped out of the bathroom with a fluffy white towel wrapped around her. Just like always, she changed right in front of him, her back facing him as she dropped the towel and quickly pulled up her knickers, just giving him a second to glance at her vulva.

He could even see her sideboobs from here as she put on a black bra and clipped it to her back before shoving her breasts in and adjusting the bra straps. It was followed by a yellow shirt and jeans, and then the last layer was her signature red robe. Her attire would be entirely muggle if not for those robes.

"You should shower now, unless you want to be late for breakfast," she said, whirling around and approaching him, her eyes gleaming with some unknown emotion.

"Er, yes. I should do that. You look nice today, by the way," he replied, getting off the bed, not even trying to hide his tent.

"I gathered that from your reaction." She smirked, her gaze dropping to his shorts as she rolled her eyes and waved him towards the bathroom. "I hope you'll be less forward with others. Unlike me, they won't turn a blind eye."

He shrugged, not blushing as he'd have done yesterday. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." She chuckled as he closed the bathroom door.

'Amused. She's definitely amused. Much better than being angry.' He sighed in relief, taking off his clothes and stepping under the shower.

As it had become a routine, his eyes sought the laundry basket.

There it was. Her pink bra and undies.

Instead of just staring at them and wrapping his fingers around his shaft for a quick fap session, he moved towards the basket and picked them up.

The material was soft, silky, and very thin. And the bra cups had a pretty flowery design over them.

As the water rained over him, he used them as masturbation aid, the scent and texture were too enticing not to.

He felt a rush of excitement as he shamelessly exploited his own mother's intimate garments for such a vulgar task, fully aware of the depravity of his actions. The guilt that momentarily consumed him quickly dissipated, replaced by wanton desire.

~xXxXx~

The mood in the Great Hall was sombre. Which was understandable considering three students killed themselves yesterday. Giving up, crumbling under the weight of mounting pressure. Unable to trudge forward anymore, forever lost in the dark tunnel bereft of any light.

The Slytherin table was doubly morose, entrapped in the constricting vice of melancholy as they saw their small group dwindle further. They all had worn pitch black robes to show their grief, but their visages were even darker, filled with rage and sorrow.

Tracey looked away from them and stared down, picking at her food.

She was glad that she could sit at the Hufflepuff table, away from their overpowering misery, not wanting to join them in this aggressive mourning.

Yes, she was sad too at their deaths—even if they had been Nazi-wannabe arseholes—but that didn't mean she wanted to voluntarily drown in collective sorrow. Neither was she close to them, nor did she have enough time and empathy to spend the entirety of her attention on their tragic ends.

Her gaze jumped to Harry.

He was silent and immersed in his own head, but no longer hysterical.

She didn't know how to feel about that. Yesterday, he was throwing up in horror, and today he was back to normal.

Then there were her suspicions too.

Harry had killed them, maybe unintentionally. But he did kill them. That was what circled through her head since the last day when she saw him heaving and sobbing in the common room. The only reason he hadn't received stumped looks was because others were sobbing and vomiting too.

This fact brought a terror to her heart that she had never felt before.

Harry had somehow filled the three boys' minds with such thoughts or illusions that they ended up taking their lives. It was an unbelievable power. An unworldly power. Even the books Daphne had loaned her didn't mention any sort of ability like that.

This should make her smug for having chosen the right side, for having chosen the winning side.

But a single fear had kept her awake last night.

'What if he uses this power on me? Can I even detect it with my occlumency? The seventh years must have had practice in occlumency too, since they were members of pureblood families. If they couldn't stop his mysterious power, then what odds do I have?'

She trusted Harry. She really did. He was her best friend, after all.

Still, there was a limit to her trust. Allowing someone such power over her would be moronic. And yet she couldn't do anything about it. Being his friend was the best protection she had. Both from the others and himself.

She'd like to think his kindness and his affection for her would prevent him from ever messing with her head.

Was that enough to reassure her?

No, it wasn't.

She had to confront him and hear the words from his mouth. Until then, the terror would refuse to leave its grip.

It was as they left the Great Hall that she took his arm and pulled him into an abandoned classroom.

He shot her a curious look but allowed her to lead him.

The door closed behind them, and he watched her as she applied a flurry of privacy charms, some of them totally unknown to him.

"This better be some top secret stuff because now I'll have to suffer Hannah's teasing for the next hundred years," Harry said, his lips twitching, imagining what Susan and Hannah must be thinking while standing outside the door.

"Is she still babbling about us being a couple?" Tracey groaned as she conjured a ball of light to provide some visibility in this windowless room.

"Yep. And this is going to add more fuel to the fire." He grinned, closing the distance between them and looking at the hovering ball of light. "Though perhaps it is finally time. Are you going to confess your eternal love to me? Is this the reason for all this privacy?"

Her cheeks reddened, and she swatted his shoulder. "Don't distract me."

Snickering, he slung his arm around her shoulders and gave her a fond squeeze. "Come on, we can totally become a good couple. I'll even sing you romantic poems every morning."

Instead of feeling flattered or overwhelmed, her expression became stony, and she ducked away from his arm, coming to stand before him. "Enough, Harry. You can stop distracting me."

His humour vanished, and a sigh escaped his lips. "I see you're adamant in talking about it. Go on, ask your questions."

"How do you know what I'm going to ask? Are you reading my mind?" She asked, her face paling further under the limited light.

His eyebrows climbed up in surprise. "What are you talking about? I don't need to read your mind for that. We spend everyday together, and I know you noticed me messing with their heads. But I trust you, so I wasn't worried."

"Oh."

"Why did you even think I'd read your mind?"

"I… I just don't know what to think. You killed three boys, Harry. That is a big deal. How can I be sure that you won't use this mysterious power of yours over me? What's stopping you? I don't even know if I'll be able to notice it." Tracey threw her hands up, her voice shaky and filled with anguish.

Harry froze under her questions before replying coldly, "Because I'm your best friend. You are supposed to just trust me. Like I did when you caught me messing with those four boys' heads. I didn't panic then because I knew I could count on you to keep mum. It's obvious that you don't feel the same way."

"That's not true. I do trust you. I'm just scared. Please, don't take it the wrong way." She sighed, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him, her face flushed against his chest.

"If I were controlling you, then you wouldn't be friends with Daphne. If I were controlling you, these fearful thoughts wouldn't ever come to your mind. Trust me, Trace, I'll never use my power on you. Even if someday we fight and get estranged, I'll still not mess with your head." Harry exhaled tiredly, his arms enclosing her in a tight hug. The warmth of her embrace melted the icy feeling that had taken hold of his chest.

"Do you promise that?" She mumbled.

"I promise."

She let out a relieved breath and stepped back. "Is there any chance you'll be able to teach me this terrifying magic?"

Harry wore a disappointed look and shook his head in response. "I'm afraid not. My mum discovered it. And she's very clear in her intent to keep it a secret."

"Oh."

He shrugged, aware of her barely hidden frustration, but that was all he could do.

As they stepped out and were bombarded with Hannah's suggestive comments, he couldn't help but wonder about the state of their relationship.

Had they grown closer or drifted apart?

Even during the train ride home, this persistent thought lingered in his mind, nagging at him relentlessly. The moments spent in transit seemed to stretch on, allowing his doubts to fester. He replayed their recent interactions, searching for clues to decipher the truth.

Although she acted the same, he didn't feel she was the same. She was playful, cheery, and kind.

But her spark was missing.

Or was he overthinking it?

His introspective mood would get worse later.

"Don't make that long face. I'll visit you every other day." He smiled as they stepped onto the platform, his arm around her shoulders.

With a strained smile, she shook her head. "I'm staying with Daphne's family this summer. I think it's better we meet directly in September."

"Oh, that's good, I guess. Take care," he said blankly, even when all he wanted to do was throw an angry tantrum and keep her to himself.

Why Daphne?

Why always her?

What was so damn special about her?

He must have failed in hiding his displeasure, because she pressed her lips on his cheek and whispered desperately, "I promise I'll tell you everything the next time we meet. Just trust me, okay?"

He nodded and pulled her in for one last hug.

~xXxXx~

"You sure you want to do that? There's no pressure; you can just say no." Lena offered a way out, standing beside him in the kitchen.

It was August 20—just another summer day if not for his little brother's eleventh birthday. And since Susan had so proudly bragged about his baking skills, Harry was coerced into taking on this task.

Bake one halfway decent cake, and suddenly you're hailed as the Supreme Master of Baking!

"It's fine, Lena. I made a cake for Susan's birthday once in our second year; now I'll bake one for Julian. Don't want to play favourites now, do we? And I still need to play that game on his SNES," he replied playfully, earning a chuckle and a pat on his back.

He now stood as tall as her, so the head pat would be awkward.

"You're a good boy, Harry," she said as the house elves popped around them and arranged the ingredients in front of him.

'And good boys get rewards.' He almost said that before biting his tongue to stop the suggestive words from slipping out.

"Just so you know, it won't be anything grand. Just a one-tier cake, that's all I know at the moment," he said instead, aware that not everyone was his mum.

Unlike her, Lena wouldn't turn a blind eye to his lewd words or actions.

Lena placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "It's only for the family, so we'll eat whatever you make."

"Alright then, leave me. I'll be out when this gruelling task is done. Keep Julian and Susan out; I don't want to get distracted."

"We'll be in the living room." Saying that, she walked away, unaware of his lecherous gaze on her swaying hips.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief once she was gone.

It had been so difficult to keep his eyes off her amazing cleavage. And the casual white robes did display more than enough of her valley. He'd have questioned her intentions for dressing like that if he didn't know her better.

Just like everyone else, she was wearing something comfy and airy while in her own home, not caring about the amount of skin she was showing in front of her own family.

But Harry—who even lusted after his own mother—didn't care that she was older than him, that she was his father's wife, that she was his stepmother, that she was his family too.

So it wasn't a surprise that his nether region had tingled the moment he laid his eyes on her. Upon her beautiful, kind face and bright ginger hair, upon the curves of her ample breasts and wide hips. And since she was a witch, her ageing was quite slow. As a result, she still looked like a young woman in her twenties. Not that he wouldn't have been attracted to her if she looked her actual age.

Shaking his head off the dirty thoughts, he focused on his task.

He had a cake to make.

~xXxXx~

In the evening, after his task was done, he stepped into the living room and found her alone on the sofa.

She was slumped on the armrest with a glass of wine in her hand.

At the sound of his footsteps, she looked at him and stood up after putting the glass on the coffee table. "Is it done?"

"Yep. It's better than the last time, if I say so myself," he answered confidently.

Honestly, this whole baking thing started on a whim—a random idea to do something nice for Susan. He hadn't ever taken it seriously.

But maybe, just maybe, he had an inherent talent for it. Maybe he could really become a renowned chef with the bare minimum of effort. Then he realised how dull it would be to stand in the kitchen and watch over food. Becoming a chef was definitely a big no, it seemed.

She padded over to him and cupped his face. "Thank you for doing this. Julian will be happy that you made a cake for him."

Her tone was full of warmth and adoration.

"It's alright. He's my brother. It was fun baking for him," he said, not understanding why she was so grateful for that. He just baked a cake—nothing to write home about.

"I'm just glad that I'm not alone in trying to keep this family together. Between James and Lily, it does get depressing to keep things calm and civil." She answered his unasked question, pecking him on the cheek before stepping back, her breath laced with the sweetness of wine. "And I hope you'll look after Julian, like you're doing for Susan."

"Of course." He shrugged, having grown fond of them.

"Can you do one last thing for me?" She asked bashfully.

'Show me your big boobies and I just might.' That was one of his many naughty thoughts, but his words were far more polite. "I will if it won't be too bothersome."

"Can you convince Lily to attend Julian's birthday? I'd like the entire family to be together for this one event," she requested reluctantly, knowing the difficulty of the task.

Harry scratched his chin, knowing it was possible.

But was forcing his mum to breathe the same air as his father fair to her?

As if reading his thoughts, she spoke up to counter his internal argument. "She can talk with either me or you for the entire duration. I'm not asking her to be near James."

"I think I can manage that. Hmm, it's already six thirty. I'll be back with her at seven. And then Julian can cut the cake at seven thirty; dad should be home by then. How does that sound?"

She took him in her arms and hugged him excitedly. "Thank you. I'll prepare the rest by then. You don't know how grateful I am."

Harry hugged her back, her white robes thin enough to not matter. He could swear his palms were on her bare flesh instead of on her robes. And her skin was incredibly soft and warm. Not to mention the way her large tits were squashed against him. And the lemony scent of her ginger hair just added to her sensuality.

Lena Potter had that curious aura of an innocent seductress.

He hoped his father was properly railing this woman into sleep every night, because anything else would be a sacrilege.

"See you in a bit." With that, he backed away and used his 'teleportation ring' to portkey back home.

His mum wasn't in the living room.

He found her in the kitchen, cooking dinner for them.

"Change into something nice. We have to attend a birthday party," he said, turning off the stove as he sidled beside her, bumping his shoulder against her.

"Whose birthday?" She asked, turning towards him and crossing her arms.

"Julian's"

"Who is Julian?"

…

He blinked owlishly, lost for words. "You must be kidding me."

Her eyes gleamed, and she snapped her fingers. "Ah, the spawn of James Potter. I remember him now. Wasn't he a cheap knockoff of you? He doesn't even have your pretty green eyes."

He sighed and regarded her exasperatedly. "Unlike father, they aren't at fault. I have even started considering Julian and Susan as my real siblings. Be kind to them, please."

"Alright, alright. I can be kind too. Don't give me that disappointed look." She rolled her eyes, not surprised by his admission.

"Good. So you're coming, right?" His relief was palpable, making her crack an amused smile.

"Do I have a choice? You'll be pouting for days if I don't go."

"That was far easier than I thought it would be." He mused out loud, following her to the bedroom.

"You're acting like I'm always in a snippy mood," she muttered, going into the bathroom to freshen up for this impromptu party.

"You are when you're not talking to me." He chuckled, standing before the basin—beside her—and splashing water over his face, checking his appearance in the mirror, pushing his fingers through his windswept hair.

He would have liked to take a quick shower, but he didn't have an hour.

"That's probably true. But everyone's just so annoying. I can't help it." She smirked, not denying it, wiping off her face and neck with the towel and stepping back into the bedroom.

Since she wasn't too excited for this party, she simply chose the first dress that caught her eye.

It was a cute light-blue summer dress with thin noodle straps.

Taking it out, she dropped it on the bed and selected a black button-down shirt and white trousers for Harry.

He'd look classy in them, she thought with a proud smile. Then again, he'd look good in anything. He was just that handsome.

"That's good enough," he muttered, accepting her choice and stripping down to his underwear before hastily putting them on, moving his arms and legs to test their fit.

They were perfect.

"I love that you've finally stopped being self-conscious in front of me," she said approvingly, pulling down her own jeans, leaving her with only a matching set of purple bra and knickers.

"Like mother, like son, I guess," he said sarcastically, not even bothering to hide his appreciative gaze as he flopped on the bed and stared at her.

She definitely looked older than Lena, he mused. Her breasts were a bit larger and rounder, and there was a delicious softness to her body that inevitably came with age.

But between them, he'd always choose his mum. Always. There was just something about her that stole his breath and filled him with love and lust.

He carefully watched her as she pulled over the ankle-length blue dress and adjusted the fitting around her waist and hips.

"Can you zip it, Harry?" She turned around, the zip open down to her waist, displaying her milky pale back.

It was a snug fit around her shapely behind. And was eye-catching. Very eye-catching.

"Of course," he agreed, stepping behind her, pressing his palm on her lower back and dragging it up her spine, the heat of her skin seeping into his fingers, the sensation making him tingle down there.

She didn't say anything, not asking why he wasn't zipping her dress.

But the wall clock reminded him that he didn't have enough time to appreciate her beauty.

He pulled the zip until the dress was closed, her back hidden under the fabric. Hugging her from behind, he planted a wet kiss on the side of her neck, making her tremble in his arms, her arse pressing onto his groin.

Giving her arse a delightful squeeze, he let go. "Done."

"Thank you. Shall we now?"

There it was again—her oblivious act.

During the holidays, he had indeed tested her limit regularly. And had come to an astonishing conclusion.

Unless he tried to take off her shorts, she was fine with everything else. He had groped her all over her body while she stubbornly kept her sleeping act. From her boobs to her crotch, from her arse to her toned legs, he was allowed to touch her anywhere.

It was only when he had tried to pull down her shorts that she opened her eyes and shook her head before closing them once again and resuming her oblivious act.

Seriously, it was strange. But now wasn't the time to question the antics of his mother.

Taking her hand, he used his ring to portkey to Potter Manor.

~xXxXx~

There were only five of them, all dressed semi-formally.

It was a family party, after all. No one other than family was present.

But one person was missing.

James Potter.

And it was already eight—half an hour wasted waiting for his arrival.

"Lena, I'm sorry to say this. But just cut the cake. We've waited long enough." Lily told her in a friendly tone.

The last hour had been spent conversing with each other and watering the dried roots of their old friendship.

Surprisingly, Lily was more affable than ever.

She could only guess it was Harry's doing. If she wasn't trying to hide her anger, she'd have kissed her eldest son again. That was what he was—her son. She had decided that tonight and had been hoping for it from the moment she met him in the backyard of Leaky Cauldron.

The birthday party was perfect.

Harry, Susan, and Julian were spending time with each other, talking and teasing, looking like perfect siblings. Like a perfect family.

And the miraculous opportunity to get her good friend back was the cherry on top. While she would never claim to be Lily's best friend in the past, they had been on good terms before her marriage to James changed that.

So it was a dream come true that Lily was finally talking to her. Finally treating her as her friend.

Of course, something had to ruin the perfect day.

And that happened to be her workaholic husband.

Tonight, she wouldn't stay silent.

Let him come; he had many questions to answer. Chief among them, why wasn't he there for their son's eleventh birthday?

While these raging thoughts churned inside her head like a violent sea, her face retained a smile. A disappointed smile. "Let's begin, Julian. Dad is busy."

While Julian just shrugged and accepted it, both Susan and Harry openly displayed their anger. But for the sake of their younger brother, they put on a smile and sang him the birthday song.