“Now, on to the fun things,” Rebecca said, standing up and walking over to the dining room table. She came back with a cupcake in her hand, and it bore a yellow and green striped candle. “Rumor has it that it’s your eleventh birthday. Is that true?”

The boy nodded warily.

How had she known?

His own father hadn’t even mentioned it all day.

“Then you must make a wish.” Rebecca smiled big, like his mother used to do. She reached into her purse, pulled out a lighter, and flicked on the flame. The boy watched as the candle wick began to burn, the wax slowly dripping down the sides of the candle, melting into the frosting. “Go ahead, blow out the candle and make your wish.”

He did as she said, and she smiled even wider than before.

The young boy made a mistake that night, and he didn’t even notice. It happened so quickly, between the moment he opened his mouth to blow out the candle and the moment when the flame dissipated.

In that split second, in that tiny space of time, he accidentally opened his heart and let her in.

The last woman to remember his birthday was his mother, and how he loved her so.

She reminded him so much of his mother, from her kind smile and misplaced trust, her painted lips and doe eyes to her willingness to love.

Rebecca wasn’t wrong about hearts and love. Hearts were always welcoming to new love, but when that love settled in, heartbreak sometimes began to creep in the shadows as well.

In the shadows, heartbreak poisoned the love, twisting it into something darker, heavier, uglier. Heartbreak took love and mutilated it, humiliated it, scarred it. Heartbreak slowly began to freeze heartbeats that had once been so welcoming to love.

“Happy birthday,” Rebecca said, taking a swipe of frosting from his cupcake with her finger and placing it in her mouth. “I hope all of your wishes come true.”

It was the middle of the night when my cell phone started ringing. I rolled over in my bed in search of Richard, but he wasn’t there. I glanced toward the hallway, where a light shined and light jazz music was playing, which meant he was up working on his artwork. My phone kept ringing, and I rubbed my eyes as I went to answer. “Hello?” I yawned, trying my best to keep my eyes open. The shades were drawn in my room and no sunlight was peeking in, clearly indicating that it was far from morning.

“Lucille, it’s Graham. Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice shaky.

I heard a crying baby in the background as I sat up in my bed and yawned once more. “No, I’m always awake at three in the morning.” I chuckled. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Talon came home today.”

“That’s great.”

“No,” he replied, his voice cracking. “She won’t stop crying. She won’t eat. When she’s asleep, I think she’s dead, so I check her heartbeat, which in turns wakes her and leads to the crying again. When I put her in the crib, she screams even louder than when she’s in my arms. I need…I—”

“What’s your address?”

“You don’t have—”

“Graham, address, now.”

He complied and gave me directions to his house in River Hills, which told me at least one thing: he lived a comfortable life.

I got dressed fast, tossed my messy curly hair into an even messier bun, and hurried into the living room where I saw Richard sitting. He was intensely staring at one of his charcoal drawings.

“Still working?” I asked.

His eyes darted to me, and he raised a brow. “Where are you going?” His face was different, his full beard shaven, leaving only his mustache.

“You have no beard,” I commented. “And…a mustache.”

“Yeah, I needed inspiration, and I knew shaving my face would bring about some kind of expression. You like it?”

“It’s…” I wiggled my nose. “Artistic?”

“Which is exactly what this artist strives for. So wait, where are you going?”

“Graham just called me. He brought Talon home from the hospital and is having a lot of trouble with her.”

“It’s…” Richard glanced at his watch with narrowed eyes. He’d lost his glasses somewhere in the mess of his creation, I was certain. “Three in the morning.”

“I know.” I walked over to him and kissed him on the top of his head. “Which is exactly why you should get some sleep.”

He waved me off. “People who get showcases at museums don’t sleep, Lucy. They create.”

I laughed, walking to the front door. “Well, try to create with your eyes shut for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

As I pulled into Graham’s driveway, I was stunned by the size of his house. Of course, all the mansions in River Hills were stunning, but his was hauntingly breathtaking. Graham’s property was much like his personality—secluded from the rest of the world. The front of the house was surrounded by trees, while the backyard had a bit of open land to it. There were pebbled pathways that marked the areas that were supposed to be made into gardens, but the wild grass just grew high in those areas. It would’ve been great for a beautiful garden. I could envision the types of unique flowers and vines that could exist in the space. Behind the patch of field were more trees that traveled far back.

The sun hadn’t risen yet and his house was dark, but still so beautiful. In front of his porch sat two huge lion statues, and on his rooftop were three gargoyles.

I walked up to his door carrying two cups of coffee, and right as I was about to ring the doorbell, Graham was already there, rushing me inside.

“She won’t stop screaming,” he said, not greeting me, just hurrying me into the house with the crying baby. The house was pitch-black, except for a lamp that sat on the living room table. The draping on all the windows was heavy red velvet, making the home feel even darker. He led me to Talon’s room, where the tiny girl was lying in her crib, her face red as day as she hollered.

“She doesn’t have a temperature, and I laid her on her back, because you know…” He shrugged. “I read up a lot about SIDS, and I know she’s not able to roll, but what if she does by mistake? And she’s not eating much. I’m not sure what to do, so I was going to try kangaroo care.”

I almost laughed at his nerves, except there was the issue that Talon was in distress. I looked around the room, noting that the little girl’s bedroom was two times the size of my own. Scattered across the floor were dozens of parenting books opened to certain pages, with other pages folded down so he could return to them at a later time.