The clock struck midnight in the villa, echoing into stillness.
Rivan turned 43.
No laughter. No voices. No calls.
Just the dim flicker of candlelight resting atop a small cake he'd brought home himself. The kind Liora used to bake — rich chocolate, with thick frosting and uneven swirls.
He didn't light the candle.
He didn't have the heart.
Instead, he sat in the center of the silent dining room, surrounded by shadows of what should've been. Ten years of success couldn't fill the space left behind. His phone stayed silent. No messages. No calls. Just the soft hum of the fridge and the ache in his chest.
They were somewhere out there — his family. His twins. Liora. Keal.
Did they even remember today?
He reached into his drawer and pulled out four plush dolls — their likenesses captured from memories too old and too tender. Sahir's little smile stitched perfectly. Eliya's curls captured in soft thread. Keal and Loira with bright smile and love in their eyes.
He placed them on the table around the cake. "You're all here," he whispered. "Even if you don't know it."
He didn't cry.
He hadn't in years.
But he didn't smile either.
He simply sat in the flickering candlelight… and remembered.
---
Miles away, in a much smaller house filled with warmth and worn-down furniture, laughter broke the night.
The twins — now 14 — held a small cupcake in each hand while Rivan Jr., turning ten soon, held the third.
They sang softly in the candlelight, the words trembling but full of devotion.
"Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday, dear Papa…"
Liora wiped her eyes discreetly. Keal wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
After the cake was eaten and the giggles settled into yawns, the kids lay together on a mattress in the living room, whispering memories about their Papa — the way he used to swing them in the air, his deep laugh, his soft hugs.
"He'll come back one day, right?" Rivan Jr. asked sleepily.
Liora leaned down, brushing his hair back. "He never really left. He lives inside your heart."
Keal kissed Eliya's cheek. "And if he ever finds us… we'll be waiting."
---
Later that night, the house had gone quiet — the kind of silence that made even their hearts feel too loud.
The twins, Sahir and Eliya, were fast asleep. Little Rivan Jr. curled up with his toy giraffe, arms thrown wide like he owned the whole bed.
Liora stood by the window of their dimly lit bedroom, moonlight sliding over her bare shoulder, the soft cotton of her nightgown clinging to her. Her eyes were distant — watching the wind sway through the trees, holding a breath she didn't know she'd been keeping.
Behind her, Keal entered quietly, shirtless, his steps slow. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. They stood like that for a long moment — breathing, aching.
"He would've turned thirty-eight today," she whispered.
Keal nodded against her skin. "We used to bake at midnight for him… remember? Double chocolate, burnt edges… he never complained."
She smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "He always said birthdays didn't matter. But he loved it when we made a fuss."
Keal turned her gently, brushing his thumb across her face. "He still matters."
And then he kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Heavy with years of love and grief. Her fingers gripped his waist as if needing something to hold onto — something real in a world that had broken too many times.
They fell into bed, breathless — not with lust, but need.
Keal kissed down her collarbone, his voice husky. "I miss him, Liora…"
"I feel him everywhere," she breathed, hands in his hair. "Every time you touch me… it's like he's here too."
They moved slowly, unhurried — every kiss, every sigh, soaked in memory. She arched beneath him, eyes fluttering shut as he whispered her name like a prayer.
"I still love him," she whispered, voice cracking as his hands explored her, reverent.
"I never stopped," Keal said, his forehead pressed to hers.
As they made love, it wasn't just between two — it was the echo of a love that had once been three. Every moan held a name they didn't dare say aloud in that moment, but felt in every breath.
"His scent still lives in my skin," she gasped, her nails pressing into his back. "Some nights… I wake up reaching for him."
Keal kissed her harder, as if trying to take the pain away. "Sometimes I still hear his voice when I close my eyes."
She nodded, eyes filled with tears. "I would've given anything if he had just asked us to stay…"
"I would've begged him not to let go," Keal murmured, sliding inside her slowly, their bodies melting into each other. She clung to him, her head buried in his neck as she cried — not from pain, but from the flood of love still tied to the man they both lost.
The room smelled like warmth and cinnamon — the leftovers of a cake made for a ghost.
They moved together in rhythm, as if trying to bring Rivan back through the aching of their bodies. Soft moans mixed with tearful whispers, their fingers intertwined tightly, as if letting go would mean losing him again.
Keal kissed the corner of her mouth. "We never stopped being his…"
"And we never will," she whispered, wrapping her legs around him as if anchoring them both to that truth.
When they reached the edge, it wasn't fire — it was release. A sobbing, trembling fall into each other's arms, where grief and love tangled so tight they couldn't tell them apart.
Afterward, they lay together — sweat cooling, hearts still pounding.
Liora ran her fingers over Keal's chest. "Do you think he's happy?"
Keal stared at the ceiling, his throat tight. "Might be happy and don't even remember us."
She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Will h ecome back ever."
Keal kissed the top of her head. "I wish...."