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Anya's birthday was tomorrow, and the portrait I intended to give her remained unfinished.
It only needed a few final touches; her eyes lacked the right shade of brown, and her skin could use a bit more glow. I wanted this gift to be perfect, to become her favorite.
I suspected William and Nate were up to something too, perhaps a new library section or a rare diamond.
That was fine; my heartfelt creation would shine through, and I knew she would cherish it. I even captured a candid photo of her while we were watching TV, her relaxed and joyful demeanor inspiring me to bring that moment to life on canvas.
Additionally, my gifts didn’t stop at the portrait; I crafted “the broken heart” for her as well. She adored the original piece, which was made from a pedophile's heart, but the one I made for Anya was crafted from clay and paint.
Replicating a heart shape with my hands in such a short time was challenging, yet I succeeded.
See, the reason behind this piece being made of clay was simple, I couldn't fathom putting my precious baby in vicinity of a fucking pedophile, even if it was just a dead body's part.
I couldn't let my wife and my unborn child get close to something so vile.
Yeah yeah, she wasn't my wife yet, but she will be, soon enough.
But yes, I made a promise to myself that every piece I would make from now on, would have a clay replica of it, just for her and our baby.
I was so happy to find out that she appreciated my art, or at least the appearance of it. I seriously doubted she would think the same way if she found out the complete truth.
I also wanted to plan her birthday party but William wouldn't hear any of it, also he won the boxing match yesterday. So, I had no choice but to let him start with the preparations.
Fucker floored me with that one vile punch to the gut, he would pay for it soon enough. Soon. Enough.
Fuck him, honestly. He was going to regret taking this opportunity from me. Over everything else he fucking banned me from anything that was related to the party.
I wanted to bake the cake but he would order a STORE BOUGHT cake for her. So what, if it was her favorite bakery? It didn't matter, I could still bake better than those fuckers.
Well it didn't really matter because I already baked the cake for her, her favorite chocolate cake. We would soon find out what she liked the most.
