Emily woke to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Mum was already up, as usual, preparing breakfast for Dad before work. The little girl stretched, smiled, and listened—perhaps she’d hear birthday greetings from the kitchen? But only ordinary morning chatter drifted in, about the rain starting again and the forgotten umbrella left on the bus.
Emily sat up in bed, smoothing her pink elephant-patterned pyjamas. Today she turned nine. A whole nine years old! Yesterday, she’d reminded Mum several times about her birthday, and Mum had nodded and said, “Of course, sweetheart, I remember.” But now, for some reason, no one seemed in any 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 scrambled eggs. Emily paused in the doorway, waiting.
“Morning, love,” Dad said, not looking up from his paper. “Sit down and eat, or you’ll be late for school.”
“Good morning,” Emily murmured, slipping into her chair.
She sat silently, waiting. Maybe they were planning a surprise? Maybe they’d bring out a cake or presents any moment? But Mum simply placed a plate of eggs and a glass of milk in front of her as if it were any other day.
“Eat up, don’t dawdle. You’ve got lots of schoolwork today,” Mum said, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
“Mum… do you know what today’s date is?” Emily asked hesitantly, poking at her eggs.
“The fifteenth of October. Why?” Mum glanced at her absently, already thinking of other things.
“Just wondered,” Emily mumbled, lowering her eyes to her plate.
The fifteenth of October. Mum knew the date—just not what it meant. A lump formed in Emily’s throat, but she swallowed hard, refusing to let the disappointment show.
Dad finished his coffee, kissed Mum on the cheek, and ruffled Emily’s hair.
“Right, I’m off. See you tonight.”
“Bye, Dad,” Emily whispered.
Now it was just her and Mum. Mum hummed as she cleared the table, while Emily forced down the tasteless eggs.
“Mum, could we bake something today?” she ventured. “Maybe a cake?”
“A cake on a weekday? No time, love. We’ve got that doctor’s appointment tonight, remember? For your sore throat? Booked for six.”
Emily remembered but had hoped Mum might reschedule. Going to the doctor on her birthday was the last thing she wanted.
“Could we move it?” she asked softly.
“No chance—appointments are booked weeks ahead. Be glad we got this one. Go get ready for school, or you’ll miss the bell.”
Emily trudged back to her room to pack her schoolbag. The girl in the mirror had sad eyes. *Maybe they’ll remember later*, she thought as she braided her hair.
At school, she waited all day for someone to mention her birthday. Her best friend, Lucy, should’ve remembered—they’d even talked about celebrating. But Lucy was too busy revising for a maths test, going on about equations and problems.
At lunch, Emily approached Lucy, who was poring over her textbook in the corridor.
“Lucy, remember what we said about the fifteenth?”
“What about it?” Lucy barely glanced up.
“We were going to—”
“Oh, Em, sorry, my head’s full of algebra! What were we planning?”
Emily’s heart sank. Even Lucy had forgotten. The lump in her throat grew, but she forced a smile.
“Never mind. Good luck with your test.”
After school, Emily walked home slowly, gazing at shop windows. The bakery displayed gorgeous cakes; the toy shop had dolls with glossy hair. Any of these could’ve been birthday gifts—if anyone had remembered.
At home, Mum greeted her with the usual questions about school and homework.
“How was your day? Any good marks?”
“Fine. Got an A in English,” Emily said, hanging up her coat.
“Well done! Now, do your homework—we’ve got the doctor’s soon.”
Emily sat at her desk with her books but instead of working, 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 big, curly letters: *Happy Birthday, Emily!* It looked bright and cheerful. She hid it under her notebooks—a little secret just for her.
Time dragged. She kept glancing at the clock, hoping Mum would suddenly remember. Maybe there’d be a special dinner, or a small cake picked up on the way home.
“Emily, time to go!” Mum called at half five.
The clinic was noisy and crowded. Mum chatted with another mum about grocery prices and the dodgy heating at home—ordinary talk, nothing special.
The doctor was young and kind. She checked Emily’s throat, listened to her chest, and said everything was fine, just needed some vitamins.
“How old is our patient?” the doctor asked, scribbling the prescription.
“Nine,” Mum replied.
“Nine?” The doctor smiled at Emily. “What a big girl! When’s your birthday?”
Emily looked at Mum, then at the doctor.
“Today,” she whispered.
The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. Mum went pale, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Today?” Mum’s voice shook. “Emily… the fifteenth of October…”
“Yeah, Mum. Today.”
Mum sank into the chair beside her, pulling her into a tight hug.
“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry! How could I forget? Work, chores—my head’s all over the place—” Her voice trembled, and Emily felt tears wetting her hair.
“It’s okay, Mum,” Emily said, patting her arm. “Don’t cry.”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” the doctor said warmly. “Nine’s a big year!”
“Thanks,” Emily managed a small smile.
They rode home in silence. Mum held Emily’s hand, stroking her fingers. At their doorstep, she stopped.
“Em, run up to Dad. I’ll just pop to the shops. Quick, alright?”
“What for?”
“You’ll see. A surprise.” Mum kissed her cheek. “Go on.”
Inside, Emily told Dad about the appointment and Mum dashing off. Dad frowned, checked the calendar, and groaned.
“I forgot too! Good grief, what parents we are… Emily, love, forgive us!”
He hugged her tightly, and the hurt began to fade. They hadn’t meant to forget—life just got busy.
Mum returned half an hour later, arms full of bags, flushed from rushing.
“Everyone to the kitchen! Dad, put the kettle on! Emily, wash up!”
From the bags came a sponge cake, candles, balloons, and even a small doll in a frilly dress.
“This was all I could grab,” Mum said, arranging it all. “Tomorrow we’ll go proper shopping for your gift.”
“Mum, I love it all,” Emily said, admiring the doll.
Dad blew up balloons; Mum stuck nine candles on the cake. It wasn’t perfect, but it was their celebration—hurried, heartfelt.
“Make a wish and blow them out!” Dad said, squeezing her shoulders.
Emily closed her eyes, wished, and blew. 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 important days again—and for them to stay happy and healthy.)
The cake was delicious, with strawberry cream. Over tea, her parents shared funny childhood stories—Mum falling off her new bike into a puddle, Dad’s ninth birthday when Grandma mistook salt for sugar in the cake.
“You know, Em,” Mum said later, “we’ve been rubbish at keeping track. Let’s start a family calendar, jot down all the big dates.”
“Yes,” Emily agreed.
“And every Sunday, we’ll check the week ahead,” Dad added. “No more upset birthdays.”
Emily nodded. It hadn’t been the day she’d imagined, but it was special all the same.
At bedtime, Mum sat on her bed.
“Do you forgive me?”
“Course, Mum. Everyone forgets sometimes.”
“Not things this important. I’m so sorry.”
“But we celebrated anyway. The cake was lovely, and I love my doll.”
Mum stroked her hair.
“You’re such a wise, kind girl. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you and Dad too.”
“Goodnight, my nine-year-old princess.”
After Mum left, Emily took out her homemade card. She smiled at it. Tomorrow she’d show them—proof she could find joy even when others forgot.
