As soon as they spotted me, they hurried over, eyes full of hope, practically holding their breath as they handed me their gifts.
“Lauren, we came to make up for your birthday,” Tom said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “We know we messed up, and we’re really sorry. We promise we’ll stay away from Rachel. Please, just give us a chance to make things right.”
I looked at them both. It hadn’t even been a week since I left, but they looked like they’d aged a decade. Wrinkled clothes, unkempt hair, faces covered in stubble—they looked like they’d been through a war. They were the picture of desperation.
“Thanks,” I said flatly, accepting the cake.
Before they could say another word, I waved over my coworkers.
“Hey, guys! Come grab some cake!”
“Is it your birthday, Lauren?” one of them asked as they gathered around.
“It’s just cake,” I shrugged. “Who needs a birthday to eat it?”
I ignored the awkward looks on Tom and Max’s faces and cheerfully started slicing the cake for everyone.
Mr. Lewis walked over and immediately noticed the outdated housekeeping robot Tom had brought.
“Tom,” he said with a laugh, “why is your company still pushing these old models? No offense, but no wonder your sales are tanking. Honestly, I’m glad I left when I did. Maybe you should think about jumping ship and joining us. You and Lauren are both talented—I’m sure you’d thrive here.”
Tom’s eyes lit up with a flicker of hope, but before he could say anything, I shoved a piece of cake into his hand, cutting him off.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I said with a polite smile. “Tom’s perfectly happy where he is. He’s been doing things the same way for years, so I don’t think he’d fit in here. Plus, he still has… commitments at his old company.”
The hope drained from Tom’s face like air out of a balloon. He gave a tight, forced smile and nodded, clearly unsure how to handle the situation.
Just then, a small voice piped up.
“Cake! Can I have some?”
Danny came running over, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the dessert. I smiled, cut him a slice, and patted his head as I handed it to him.
Max’s expression changed instantly. His gaze flicked from Danny to me, then back to Danny, and his voice wavered.
“Why… why is he here?”
“Oh,” I said, completely casual, “his grandma works during the day, so I’ve been looking after him. He’s been staying with me for a while.”
Max’s face fell. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at me, his voice cracking. “Mom, did you replace me? I’m your real son! Don’t you want me anymore?”
“Of course you’re my son,” I said, voice flat.
Max perked up, hope blooming in his eyes, but I shot him down before he could get too comfortable.
“But Danny’s just a kid, all alone here. Can’t you be a little more understanding? Stop throwing tantrums. I don’t have time to baby you anymore. I’m busy with work.”
With that, I turned my attention back to Danny, leaving Max and Tom standing there, stunned and humiliated.
By the end of the day, they slinked away, defeated. Their attempt to fix things had completely backfired.
I threw myself into work. My creativity and skills quickly earned me recognition, and I rose through the ranks faster than I’d expected. Using my designs, we created a series of innovative toy robots, and I made it a personal mission to donate them to orphanages. Watching the kids play with them made every late night and every ounce of exhaustion worth it.
Over time, I started reconnecting with old friends.
“You’ve changed so much, Lauren,” one of them said during a recent lunch. “You’re not that tired, bitter woman anymore. You’re glowing.”
Meanwhile, Tom and Max? Not so much.
Tom started calling me constantly, trying anything to win me back.
“Lauren, I bought you this new perfume. It’s sandalwood—I know you love that scent. Do you like it?”
“Our anniversary’s coming up. How about we go to that restaurant where we had our first date? Just the two of us. No Max to cramp our style.”
“I quit my job. I don’t see Rachel anymore. I’m even thinking about applying to your company. Would you cheer me on?”
Max, my quiet teenager, suddenly became a chatterbox. He told me about everything—his test scores, what he had for lunch, the funny things his friends said.
These were the things I used to beg him to share with me. Back then, I’d have given anything for him to open up.
But now? I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Every time they called, I listened with half an ear, responding with the same indifference they used to show me.
It was almost funny. The roles had completely reversed. They were desperate for my attention, while I had long stopped needing theirs.
