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Kenji squeezed the bag too hard, and a blob of frosting landed on the counter. He swore softly, then looked at Hiro with a panicked grin. This was supposed to be a professional-grade birthday cake for Hiro’s mother, but it currently looked like a delicious construction site.

Keep it quiet, he whispered, pulling a cloth over the masterpiece to hide it in the back of the pantry. It’s a secret from Mom until tomorrow morning. Kenji squeezed the bag too hard, and a

Hiro giggled and used a spatula to smooth out the mess. His mother was the baker in the family; Kenji usually couldn't toast bread without setting off the smoke alarm. But tomorrow was her thirtieth birthday, and they wanted her to wake up to something they had made with their own hands. Keep it quiet, he whispered, pulling a cloth

Hiro nodded solemnly, crossing his heart. He felt like he was part of a Great Conspiracy. That night, as he tucked himself into bed, he heard his mother stir in the next room. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding the secret tight. It was a small, sugary bond between father and son, a hidden piece of love waiting to be revealed at sunrise. His mother was the baker in the family;

As Kenji carefully placed the final strawberry on top, he leaned in close to Hiro. The cake was slightly lopsided, and there was flour on the ceiling, but it was finished. Kenji held up a finger to his lips, his eyes twinkling with a mix of exhaustion and pride.

The kitchen was filled with the sweet, heavy scent of melting chocolate and strawberries. Ten-year-old Hiro sat on a stool, his face smudged with flour, watching his father, Kenji, struggle with a piping bag. It was 11:00 PM, and the house was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.