birthday list

“You know, I was thinking… since it’s your birthday, we could make a list.”

The word pierced through Riddle’s peace like a cold knife. His chest tightened instantly, though Idia kept speaking, his lips brushing lightly against Riddle’s hair.

“Like, a list of goals. Guess you’re rubbing off on me, for me to even think about that.” He gave a small sheepish laugh. “But, uh… since next month the kids are leaving for school, and things at Styx are pretty chill lately, we’ll have a lot of time just for us. So… yeah. Thought it could be nice.”

Riddle’s heart slammed in his chest. He was no longer in Idia’s arms. He was sitting at the long dining table of his childhood home. A sugar free cake sat untouched before him, its neat white frosting stiff as chalk. His mother’s voice cut like a whip as she unfolded a paper, last year’s list. Goal by goal, she went through it, her expression sharp with disapproval at every mark of failure. And after that came the new goals—higher, harsher, more suffocating.