Abel Udoekene

On her tenth birthday, Ann woke up before sunrise, hoping that this year would be different. She had prepared a small list of wishes the night before. She wanted a chocolate cake, a pink dress, and, more than anything, one day without hearing her parents argue. For weeks, she had reminded them that her birthday was coming. Her father always said, “We’ll see, sweetheart.” Her mother would smile weakly and return to washing the dishes. Ann had learned that promises in their house rarely became reality. That morning, she dressed in her best clothes and walked into the living room. Her father was shouting at her mother about money. Her mother shouted back about his absence and broken promises. Neither noticed the little girl standing beside the doorway. “Today is my birthday,” Ann whispered. Her father slammed the door and left. Her mother covered her face with both hands. Ann quietly returned to her bedroom. She didn’t cry. She had learned that crying only made her parents accuse each other of making her unhappy. Instead, she took two slices of bread from the kitchen, spread a little jam between them, and placed the sandwich on a plate. She decorated it with tiny pieces of paper cut from an old magazine. Then she lit a match and placed it beside the plate. “Happy birthday to me,” she sang softly. Her six-year-old brother, Noah, appeared at the door. “Why are you singing alone?” “Because nobody remembered.” Noah stared at the little sandwich. Then he ran to his room and returned with a toy car he had been saving for Christmas. “This is for you,” he said. “I know it’s not a doll, but it’s my best toy.” Ann burst into tears. She hugged him so tightly that he complained he couldn’t breathe. That evening, their mother entered the bedroom and found them asleep beside the tiny birthday plate. She noticed the toy car in Ann’s hands and the birthday wish written on a scrap of paper. It said: “I wish Mummy and Daddy would love each other again. If they can’t, I wish they would stop hurting each other.” Their mother sat on the floor and wept. For ten years, she had believed she was fighting her husband for a better life. She had forgotten that the little girl listening behind the bedroom door was losing her childhood in the process. The next morning, she called her husband. Not to argue. Not to beg him to return. She simply said, “We need to talk about what we’re doing to our children.” For the first time in years, they agreed to meet. Ann didn’t know whether her parents would stay together. But that evening, her mother sat beside her, held her hand, and asked what she wanted for her birthday. Ann thought for a moment. “Can we eat dinner together without shouting?” Her mother nodded. And for that one evening, they did. Do you think parents realise how deeply their arguments can affect their children?

Happy birthday to meeee🎂