When I finished speaking, I turned and walked away.

Finn froze for a moment, then instinctively tried to follow, but Lisa caught his hand. She held onto him, feigning innocence.

"But it's Michael's birthday today," she said softly. "Why would Heather leave so suddenly? Did she forget? Or… maybe she never planned to celebrate with him at all."

She gave a little sigh. "As a mother, that's really irresponsible, isn't it?"

At that, Michael stepped in front of Finn, his small voice sharp and trembling.

"Dad, don't bother with her! She doesn't even remember my birthday!"

Though his words were angry, his eyes were already red—like a child betrayed by the person he trusted most.

Finn looked at him, torn, and after a long pause finally pulled the boy into his arms.

"Don't be mad," he murmured. "Dad and Lisa will celebrate your birthday with you."

They sat down. The restaurant had a warm, easy atmosphere, the cake was perfect—sweet, soft, expensive.

But all the while, Finn couldn't shake the image of me walking away. It kept replaying, an ache at the back of his mind.

Even the boy, who had been so loud just moments ago, turned quiet. No matter how Lisa tried to coax him, his eyes stayed rimmed with red.

I didn't know any of this. I had already gone home.

I'd planned to stay until the thirty days were up before leaving for good. But after picturing that almost-kiss between them, I realized—there was no point.

I placed the signed divorce papers on the table, picked up my suitcase, and stepped out the door.

On the way, I ran into the neighbor's kid and handed him the limited-edition toy I'd bought for Michael's birthday.

I'd spent weeks searching all over town for it, even tracked down the manga artist to get his autograph on it. But now, I thought maybe my leaving was the only gift Michael really wanted.

Meanwhile, when the birthday dinner finally ended, Finn hurried home with our restless son.

As they entered the apartment complex, we crossed paths.

He went pale at the sight of the luggage in my hand.

But before he could speak, Michael blurted out, his face lighting up,

"Bad woman! You knew I was mad, so you're taking me on a trip, right? Where's my luggage? Why didn't you bring my Ultraman suitcase?"

He frowned when I stayed silent.

"And you have to apologize to me right now," he said, puffing up his little chest. "Promise you'll never forget my birthday again, and stop getting jealous about Dad and Lisa. If you do that, I'll agree to go with you."

Still, I said nothing.

He sighed dramatically. "Fine. Forget the apology. Just promise you won't forget my birthday again. Next time Dad takes me and Lisa out to play, I'll ask them to bring you too. But only once a week, okay? Lisa doesn't like it when you come too often."

He reached out to take my hand.

To his surprise—and his father's—I stepped back.

Their eyes widened, uneasy.

Then, without a word, I pulled a thick stack of papers from my bag.

"Ninety-nine divorce agreements," I said. "Not one missing. The last one's signed. Finn, I'm done fighting with you. Let's divorce."