Dad has returned from the deserted island.
Chapter 19
To decide on a birthday gift for Jean, there was something that needed to be known first.
"Do you know what Mr. Lambert likes the most?"
"Me! Dad likes me the best!"
"Oh my, how cute..."
At the confident, doubt-free declaration, Anne had to clutch her chest once more.
'If it’s Mr. Lambert, he would be happy even if the Young Miss just wished him a happy birthday, but...'
Although Anne hadn't been at the Lambert family estate for long, she already knew that Jean was a doting father. In fact, she couldn't help but notice it from the moment she had a brief interview before arriving.
However, she couldn't disappoint a young daughter who wanted to give her father a gift.
"That’s true! Mr. Lambert loves you more than anything in the world. Hmm, but you don't just want to give him a simple greeting, do you?"
"No, no! That's right! I want to give him something else. Something definitely cooler than the painting Peter gave him!"
'Who is Peter?'
But Anne didn't ask. As an expert in dealing with children, Anne knew that wasn't the important part right now.
"Hmm. What would be good? Shall we go over there and talk about it?"
The two moved to Anne's room in secret and began a serious meeting.
It was a rather trivial matter to call a meeting, but for Vivian, it was the most important thing in the world. The two approached it with the utmost seriousness.
"Now, let's think about what would be good to give him! It's not too late yet, so should I go to Belouan?"
Anne was even prepared to dip into her own pocket money. She could just consider it her own contribution to the birthday gift, and since Jean paid much better than other places, it wasn't a waste at all.
Vivian’s cotton-candy-like hair shook from side to side.
"Nooo. That wouldn't be me giving it to Dad. That would be Anne buying everything. Besides, I don't have any money to buy Dad anything."
"Ah."
Understanding what Vivian meant, Anne nodded.
"Then... we should think of something you can do or make yourself. I’ve been thinking, how about this?"
Then, even though there was no one eavesdropping, Anne whispered into Vivian's ear. Vivian, who had been sitting still listening, saw her eyes grow wider and wider.
"Oh dear, I'm late. Our princess must be hungry."
The next day. Jean, who had been to Belouan for some business, returned home in a hurry.
Since he hadn't asked Anne to prepare the meal and was doing it himself, he was worried that Vivian's dinner would be too late.
He had completely forgotten that today was his own birthday.
"Something I can make quickly... huh?"
He had thrown his coat into his room and rushed to the kitchen, where a delicious smell was wafting out.
'Had Anne prepared the meal in his stead because he was late?'
"Oh, Ms. Anne. I'm sorry to have made you prepare the meal as well...?"
A completely unexpected scene awaited Jean.
The table was full of food, and Vivian was running toward him.
Vivian, who hugged Jean's legs tightly, said,
"Dad! Happy birthday!"
"Bir, birthday?"
"Yes! Today is your birthday, didn't you know?"
He didn't know.
When he had no memories, he didn't know when his birthday was, so he didn't celebrate it, and after his memories returned, he didn't have the luxury to celebrate such things.
Since the last time he celebrated his birthday was over ten years ago from Jean's perspective, it was understandable that he had forgotten its existence.
It was only after hearing the word "birthday" that he thought, *Ah, come to think of it, my birthday was around this time.*
"How did you know it was my birthday..."
"Of course I knew! It's Dad's birthday!"
Jean's nose began to sting already. Jean struggled to hold back his tears, picked up Vivian, who was clinging to his legs, and approached the table.
"Hehe, Dad. Look at that. Anne helped me, and we made it together!"
The place Vivian pointed to with her short finger held a cake.
The sight of fruit decorated in a somewhat clumsy fashion on top of the whipped cream cake made it immediately obvious where Vivian's touch had been.
"And, and!"
Vivian, who struggled as if asking to be put down, ran to Anne the moment her feet touched the ground and received something.
It was a picture frame as big as Vivian's torso.
Jean was anxious that Vivian might trip while walking waddlingly, holding the frame upside down so the contents wouldn't be seen.
Seven years old wasn't an age where one tripped easily while walking, but that was a father's heart.
Seeing Vivian, whose physique hadn't changed much since she was five because of how little she had eaten while he was away, he couldn't help but worry.
Fortunately—naturally—Vivian arrived in front of Jean without tripping and held out the frame with a proud face.
"This too! This too! I drew it myself!"
"You drew it yourself...?"
In the frame he turned around with a pounding heart was a drawing made with clumsy lines.
Did they have crayons in the house?
Something painted in pink and something painted in brown.
Vivian had no talent for drawing.
The abstract painting definitely didn't look like people, but Jean could tell what it was at once.
"It's our princess and Dad!"
"Yes! That's right!"
"My Vivi... to celebrate Dad's birthday, *sniff*."
He was so moved that his voice wouldn't even come out properly.
Jean wiped the frame with his hand, tearing up. If there hadn't been glass in the middle, Vivian's drawing would have already been smudged by his tears.
But that wasn't all Vivian had prepared today.
As if determined to dry all of Jean's tears, Vivian pulled Jean's hand to make him sit in a chair, then received something from Anne and stood in front of him with a very nervous expression.
"Young Miss. Don't be too nervous. You just have to do it like you practiced!"
Even with the encouragement of Anne, who had been watching from behind with a satisfied face—Anne had no regrets about this extra work. Just watching a pure, handsome man like Jean make various expressions and tear up was enjoyable enough.
What else could she have prepared? Jean wiped his tears with his sleeve and straightened his posture.
He didn't know what she had prepared, but he would make sure to take it all in without missing a moment.
What Vivian pulled out was a blade of grass.
'Grass?'
Only after seeing her bring the leaf to her mouth did Jean remember.
The sight of Vivian practicing until just before she fell asleep, saying she had learned how to play a grass flute from Anne.
Her small lips took a deep breath.
Soon, a familiar melody began to flow out.
The performance could not be called excellent.
It wasn't a good instrument—to begin with, a blade of grass couldn't even be called an instrument—and since she hadn't been learning for long, there were many places where the pitch was off or the rhythm was mismatched.
But to Jean, it was a heavenly melody. Even if an angel had appeared in person to play, it wouldn't have been sweeter than this performance.
"Whew! I, I'm done. *Sniff*. I messed up more than when I practiced."
Jean picked up Vivian, who dropped her head in disappointment as soon as she finished playing, in one motion.
"Did you mess up? I couldn't tell at all."
"Liiiar."
"No, really. I'm just so touched that my Vivi celebrated a birthday that even I had forgotten..."
His nose stung again, and Jean couldn't continue his sentence, burying his face in his daughter's shoulder.
'I haven't even done anything for you.'
'I'm the one who left you alone, caused you to suffer for years, and let you starve and fall ill.'
Even if that was now a thing of the past, Jean had to carry that guilt for the rest of his life.
"That someone like me is a dad..."
Imagining her thinking about his birthday with this small head and worrying about how to celebrate it brought up emotions that couldn't even be expressed by the word "touched."
Jean couldn't help but hold Vivian and cry for a long time.
On the bed where darkness had settled.
Jean was stroking Vivian's pink hair as she slept soundly.
Hair that looked exactly like his wife's, who had passed away long ago.
Calling a painter who could paint a portrait didn't cost a small amount of money. Especially in a rural village like this.
That was why Jean hadn't been able to leave behind a portrait of his wife.
The reason he had painted a portrait of Jean and Vivian was because he had bitterly regretted it after his wife left.
On days like today, he wanted to see her face, even if it was just in a painting.
His wife's face was only becoming increasingly faint.
"Rosalyn, Vivian celebrated my birthday today. Isn't it amazing? When did she grow up like this?"
How happy would she have been if she had been here today?
She might have sung a song next to Vivian.
Imagining that scene, a smile naturally hung on Jean's lips.
"You should have heard it yourself, how well our daughter plays the grass flute."
The hand stroking Vivian's hair slowed down.
"I miss you..."
The voice, filled with deep longing, wandered around the room without anyone to hear it, then scattered.
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