Mum Forgot My Birthday
Emily woke to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Mum was already up, as usual, making breakfast for Dad before work. The girl stretched, smiled, and listened—perhaps she’d hear birthday wishes drifting from the kitchen? But only ordinary morning chatter reached her ears, murmurs about the rain starting again and an umbrella left behind on the bus.
Emily sat up in bed, smoothing her pyjamas dotted with pink elephants. Today she turned nine. A whole nine! Yesterday, she’d reminded Mum several times, and Mum had nodded, saying, “Of course, sweetheart, of course I remember.” But now, oddly, no one seemed in a hurry to wish her a happy birthday.
“Emily, breakfast is ready!” Mum called from the kitchen in her usual tone, nothing festive about it.
The girl dressed quickly and hurried to the kitchen. Dad sat at the table with his newspaper while Mum dished out omelettes. Emily paused in the doorway, waiting.
“Good morning, love,” Dad said without looking up. “Sit down, or you’ll be late for school.”
“Good morning,” Emily murmured, moving to the table.
She took her seat and waited. Maybe they were planning a surprise? Perhaps a cake or presents would appear any moment? But Mum set a plate of omelette and a glass of milk in front of her as if it were any other day.
“Eat up, don’t dawdle. You’ve got a lot of schoolwork today,” Mum said, drying her hands on a tea towel.
“Mum, do you know what today’s date is?” Emily asked carefully, poking at her eggs.
“The fifteenth of October. Why?” Mum glanced at her absently, already distracted by other thoughts.
“Just wondering,” Emily mumbled, staring at her plate.
The fifteenth of October. Mum knew the date but not what it meant. A tightness pinched Emily’s chest, but she tried not to show her disappointment.
Dad finished his coffee, kissed Mum on the cheek, and ruffled Emily’s hair.
“Right, off I go. See you tonight,” he said, shrugging on his coat.
“Bye, Dad,” Emily whispered.
Now it was just her and Mum. Mum hummed as she cleared the table. Emily finished her omelette, though it tasted like cardboard.
“Mum, could we bake something today?” she tried again. “Maybe a cake?”
“Emily, love, who has time for cake on a weekday? We’ve got that doctor’s appointment this evening, remember? For your throat?”
Emily remembered, but she’d hoped Mum might reschedule. Who wants to go to the doctor on their birthday?
“Can’t we move it?” she asked softly.
“Don’t be silly, appointments are booked weeks ahead. We’re lucky to get this one. Hurry up, or you’ll miss the bell.”
Emily went to her room to pack her schoolbag. In the mirror, a girl with sad eyes stared back. “Maybe they’ll remember later?” she thought, tying her plaits.
At school, Emily waited all day for someone to wish her happy birthday. Her best friend Lucy might have remembered—they’d talked about celebration plans. But Lucy was buried in maths revision, muttering equations under her breath.
At lunch, Emily sat beside her.
“Lucy, do you remember what’s special about the fifteenth?” she ventured.
“Eh? What about it?” Lucy barely glanced up from her textbook.
“Nothing, never mind.”
The lump in Emily’s throat grew heavier.
After school, she walked home slowly, eyeing shop windows. The bakery displayed frosted cakes; the toy shop gleamed with dolls. Any of them could have been hers—if anyone had remembered.
At home, Mum asked about homework and grades.
“How was school? Any marks back?” she asked, stirring soup on the hob.
“Fine. Got an A in English,” Emily said, hanging up her coat.
“Well done! Now, lessons first, then the doctor’s.”
Emily sat at her desk but didn’t open her books. Instead, she pulled out paper and coloured pencils. If no one remembered, she’d make her own birthday card.
She drew a cake with candles, balloons, and wrote in curly letters: “Happy Birthday, Emily!” Hiding it under her exercise books, she kept it as her little secret.
Time dragged. Emily checked the clock, hoping Mum might suddenly recall. Maybe she’d cook something special or buy a small cake on the way home?
“Emily, time to go!” Mum called at half-five.
The clinic was crowded. Mum chatted with another mum about rising bread prices and dodgy radiators. Ordinary talk. Nothing celebratory.
The doctor was kind. She checked Emily’s throat, listened to her chest, and prescribed vitamins.
“How old is our patient?” she asked, scribbling notes.
“Nine,” Mum answered.
“Nine?” The doctor smiled. “What a big girl! And when’s your birthday?”
Emily looked at Mum, then at the doctor.
“Today,” she said quietly.
The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. Mum paled, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Today?” Mum’s voice trembled. “Emily… the fifteenth…”
Mum sank onto a chair, pulling Emily close.
“Oh, my darling, forgive me! How could I forget? Work, errands—my head’s been everywhere…” Tears dripped onto Emily’s hair.
“It’s okay, Mum.”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” the doctor said warmly. “Nine’s a grand age!”
They rode home in silence. Mum held Emily’s hand, stroking her fingers. At their building, she stopped.
“Run up to Dad. I’ll pop to the shops. Quick, now.”
“What for?”
“Wait and see.” Mum kissed her cheek. “Go on.”
At home, Emily told Dad about the clinic and Mum’s errand. Dad frowned, checked the calendar, and groaned.
“I forgot too! Good grief, what parents we are… Emily, love, forgive us!”
He hugged her tight, and the hurt began to fade. They hadn’t meant to forget. Life had just been busy.
Mum returned with bulging bags, flushed and breathless.
“Kitchen, everyone! Dad, put the kettle on! Emily, wash up!”
From the bags emerged a sponge cake, candles, balloons, and a small doll in a frilly dress.
“This was all I could grab,” Mum said, arranging everything. “Tomorrow we’ll pick a proper present.”
“It’s perfect, Mum.”
Dad blew up balloons; Mum lit nine candles. An impromptu party bloomed.
“Make a wish!” Dad said, squeezing her shoulders.
Emily closed her eyes, wished, and blew out the candles. Her parents clapped.
“What’d you wish for?” Mum asked, slicing the cake.
“Can’t say—or it won’t come true.”
(She’d wished they’d never forget again, and for them to stay happy and healthy.)
The cake was delicious, layered with strawberry cream. Over tea, her parents shared silly childhood stories—Mum falling off her new bike, Dad’s ninth birthday when Grandma mistook salt for sugar.
“Emily,” Mum said later, “we’re rubbish at keeping track. Let’s start a family calendar, yeah? Write down all the important dates.”
Dad nodded. “And check it every Sunday. No more disappointments.”
Emily agreed. Her birthday hadn’t gone as planned, but it turned out special anyway. What mattered was they’d realised their mistake.
At bedtime, Mum sat on her bed.
“Have you forgiven me?”
“Course, Mum. Everyone forgets sometimes.”
“Not things this important. I’m so sorry.”
“But we celebrated in the end. The cake was lovely, and the doll’s beautiful.”
Mum stroked her hair.
“You’re such a wise, kind girl. I’m proud of you.”
“And I’m proud of you and Dad.”
“Goodnight, my nine-year-old princess.”
After Mum left, Emily took out her homemade card. She smiled. Tomorrow she’d show them—proof she could find joy even when others forgot.
