In my other hand, I grabbed the bag of gifts and the custom-ordered cake box. My father was sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair that groaned under his weight. He was nursing a can of cheap beer, even though it was only 11:00 AM.
He watched us approach with eyes that were glazed and indifferent. “You’re late,” he grumbled, taking a swig of beer. He didn’t stand up.
He didn’t look at Lily, who offered a small, tentative wave. “And I hope you didn’t bring anything noisy. I have a headache.”
“Hello, Dad,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“Happy birthday to your granddaughter?”
Frank scoffed, wiping foam from his lip. “She doesn’t know what day it is, Sarah. She doesn’t know anything.”
I tightened my grip on Lily, shielding her from his apathy.
“She knows you’re ignoring her.”
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