Page 2 of Bratva's Intern

“Will you be back before my birthday?” My birthday was in two weeks, and I was looking forward to it. All my friends from school were invited. We were going to have a camp-style party in the backyard. Dad had promised to set the whole thing up.

“Of course, son. I always come back when I say, don’t I?”

He did. Every single time.

I played with the hem of my T-shirt. “You just got back,” I muttered.

“I know, buddy.” He ruffled my hair gently. “I hate leaving you too, but I’ll be back before you know it. Promise. Then I won’t be gone for a while.”

“Really?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

If he had, I never found out. I looked down at my socked feet, a little embarrassed by the lump in my throat. “I like when you’re here.”

“And I like being here with you and your mom.” Dad slipped his arm around me, pulling me in close. “Best part of my whole life, kiddo.”

I leaned into him, resting my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Strong. I felt safe, just like always, when he held me like that.

“But… I like the gifts too,” I mumbled into his shirt.

Dad laughed softly, kissing the top of my head. “Ah, so that’s it. You like meandthe presents, huh?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “But mostly you.”

He tightened his arm. “Good. I’ll always bring you something cool. But just remember, Wren… the stuff is just stuff. You’re my real treasure. You and your mom.”

I smiled, closing my eyes as I let myself believe him. Dad always came back. He always kept his promises.

So even when he stood up and said he had to pack soon, even when he kissed the top of my head and said “see you in a few days,” I wasn’t scared.

Because Dad always came back.

Today wasmyday.

I couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home. Not even when Jacob Barlow flicked a booger at me on the bus and said twelve wasn’t a cool age anymore. I didn’t care. Jacob was stupid anyway.

Twelve was awesome. Almost a teenager. My birthdays were always great, and this year was going to be no different because Dad promised.

He’d be home for my birthday.

Last week, when we video-called—he was somewhere with snow and mountains—he’d said he would help me blow out the candles like we did every birthday together.

So when the bus stopped, I shot up like a rocket, my backpack bouncing against my shoulders. I ran down the street so fast my lungs burned. I didn’t even stop to wave at Mrs. Kerns, who always watered her flowers after school.

“Dad!” As soon as I burst through the front door, I kicked my sneakers off so fast they flew across the hallway. “Dad, I’m home!”

The house felt too quiet.

But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was in the backyard, setting up a surprise. Or upstairs, wrapping my gift. Or?—

Mom came out of the kitchen.

Her eyes were red.

She smiled a little, but it was all wrong. Crooked and shaky. She clutched a tissue in one hand and wiped her nose real quick, but I wasn’t dumb. I knew crying when I saw it.

“Where’s Dad?”

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