On it was a slice of birthday cake.

Beside the plate, he set the photograph of his mother taken at his college graduation.

He sat down.

Rebecca stood in the doorway, watching him.

For a while, he said nothing.

Then he took out his phone.

His mother’s number was still in his call history.

He pressed it.

A recorded voice informed him that the number was no longer in service.

Daniel listened until the message ended.

Then he tried again.

And again.

On the fourth attempt, Rebecca came over and gently took the phone from his hand.

He didn’t resist.

“I was so sure,” he said.

She sat beside him.

“I know.”

“I was so sure I was right.”

Rebecca put her arm around him.

Daniel looked at the photograph.

His mother was smiling at the camera, holding the flowers she had brought to his graduation. He remembered being annoyed that she’d insisted on taking so many pictures.

He had never noticed how proud she looked.

“I don’t even remember the last time I hugged her.”

Rebecca rested her head against his shoulder.

Daniel remained at the table long after she went upstairs.

Before going to bed, he opened the drawer where he had placed his mother’s final letter.

He read it once more.

Then he turned it over and wrote on the back.

Mom,

Lily turned nine today. She likes chocolate cake, and she’s afraid of thunderstorms, although she pretends she isn’t. She has your habit of saving the best part of her dinner until last.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

I wish you could have met her properly.

I wish I had listened.

Love, Danny.

He folded the letter and placed it beneath the photograph.

The next morning, Lily came downstairs and found the plate still on the table.

The cake had gone stale overnight.

“Daddy, should we throw this away?”

Daniel looked at it.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

She carried the plate to the sink.

Then she turned back.

“Can we make Grandma’s cinnamon rolls sometime?”

Daniel remembered the recipe box in his mother’s kitchen, the handwritten cards stained with butter and flour, and the way she used to wake before sunrise on Christmas morning.

He smiled, although his eyes were wet.

“I think she’d like that.”

And for the first time in seventeen years, Daniel began planning a Christmas that would include his mother.

Not because she was coming home.

But because he finally understood that she had never stopped waiting for him.