But he kept this a secret from the children, misleading Edwin into thinking it was merely Cecilia's birthday. Teasingly, Mark asked, "What present will you give your mother?"

Edwin pondered briefly before responding, "I'll give her my dad."

It struck Mark that his son had matured considerably.

Just as Mark was about to say something, the door swung open.

Cecilia entered.

The apartment was awash in a romantic black motif.

Women always had a penchant for such romantic gestures.

Only then did Cecilia remember it was her birthday. Slightly irked, she said, “We should've invited my brother and Rena. The more, the merrier."

She eyed the sumptuous feast.

It looked delectable.

Mark gazed at Cecilia, who remained blissfully unaware. Yet, this naivete was what endeared her to him.

She had always been his Cecilia, his treasure.

He walked over, gently wrapped his arms around her thin waist, and said gently, "Go to the bedroom to have a look."

When Mark spoke, his breath warmed Cecilia's ear, tickling her.

Cecilia glanced at him, her eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts, understood only by those involved.

Mark wrapped his arms around her, guiding her into the bedroom.

Inside, black long-stemmed roses blanketed the room.

Each one, air-freighted from far away, bore dew on its petals, their dark beauty a stark contrast.

A light blue box sat on the white bed sheet.

Drawn to it, Cecilia ran her fingers over the flowers and then the box, her voice dropping.