"Happy birthday, Arthur," Miller said quietly.
Before Arthur could process the words, Miller pushed the door open and stepped aside.
Arthur stood frozen in the doorway.
The room was small, lit by a warm overhead light rather than cold fluorescent tubes. There was a simple wooden table in the center, surrounded by four padded chairs. But Arthur didn't notice the furniture.
Standing on the far side of the table was Sarah. She was wearing her blue floral summer dress—the one she knew he loved—and her hair was tied back in a messy knot, just like it always was at home. Beside her stood ten-year-old Leo, dressed in a button-down shirt that was slightly too big for him, and seven-year-old Lily, who was holding a crumpled, hand-drawn paper card tightly in her small fist.
For three agonizing seconds, no one moved. The air in the room seemed to freeze.
"Artie?" Sarah whispered, her voice breaking on the second syllable.
The sound of her voice shattered the wall Arthur had spent eighteen months building around his heart.
"Daddy!" Lily screamed.
She dropped the card and sprinted across the small room, her small sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. Arthur fell to his knees, his arms opening wide just as Lily slammed into his chest with full force. He caught her, burying his face into the soft curve of her neck, smelling the faint, unmistakable scent of strawberry shampoo.
"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" she cried, her little arms wrapping tightly around his neck, holding on as if she were drowning.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears came anyway—hot, fast, and uncontrollable. He sobbed into her shoulder, his hands clutching her small back, confirming over and over that she was real, that this wasn't a cruel trick of his starving mind.
A second later, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders from behind. He looked up through a blur of tears to see Leo, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, pressing his forehead against Arthur's shoulder.