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It was the night of Henri’s favorite day, March 13th, his beloved daughter Ameri’s birthday. The day was great, as it usually was. Henri always took pride in planning his daughter’s birthdays, always trying to make her laugh and smile more every year.
But now the party had ended and he was cleaning up around the living room of his manor. Confetti scattered along the ground and in between couch cushions, plates scattered along counters, wrapping paper shredded along what felt like every possible surface and Henri with a trashbag, cleaning it up by himself.
Ameri’s birthday was a great one this year, as they always are. But this time, she invited friends over for the first time, which warmed Henri’s heart like nothing else. Although one friend of hers did get on Henri’s nerves, come on! You can’t blame him! That’s his daughter for Devi’s sake! His only daughter! If someone broke her heart then he’d have to get rid of them, so there’s nothing that a glare and some threats can’t fix.
His only daughter.
Ameri was the only person he had.
Not that he minded of course, he’s honored to be her father and loves her with every fiber in his being. But the way she laughs reminds him of someone else. It always does.
He continued to clean, the only sounds in the manor being the rustling of the confetti between his fingers, the ruffling of the trashbag in his other hand and the soft snores of his sleeping daughter in the next room. That sound in particular seemed to soothe the sound in his head.
Most would say Ameri clearly resembles her father, at least on a surface level. Fiery hair, big red eyes, the type to follow rules and demand order…But there was something else. Something no one else seemed to see.
They were both incredibly sensitive. They both play it off well but every word always seems to feel like a stab to them both, which is out of their control but something someone else always found endearing.
Ameri’s so-called friend always found it to feel like that anyway. He was calm but sweet, nervous but polite. Henri huffed to himself before tying the ends of one trash bag together and opening a new one.
As he continued to clean, everything seemed to feel heavier in his hands.
He always missed her on March 13th.
Henri never believed in fate. Easy as that. But beliefs change under new circumstances, situations, influences, and people.
People.
Or just a person?
He remembers when he met his person. Everyone always does.
She should be here. It’s not like she’s gone forever. He’s still her husband, he knows that. He’s got the ring on his finger to prove it, even a habit of giving it a brief pathetic kiss when he’s worried or when his heart is aching.
He shook his head and bent down to the floor to pick up the confetti pieces.
He’s not alone, so why does his heart make him feel like that? He had everything he ever needed. He has his precious daughter, a wife, a great job, and respect from his peers.
He’s a father and a husband mostly. Those were his most important roles.
He was Ameri’s father and he would do everything in his power to protect her and make her happy.
He was a husband.
He glanced down at the ring that wrapped itself around his finger.
He WAS a husband.
And he was sensitive. And all of this hurt. It hurt a lot. His pride and joy was a year older and growing up way too fast. But he was the only one who got to really see that. His wife was-
He took a deep breath.
His wife was fine. Sure she isn’t in the Netherworld anymore but that doesn't mean she’s not somewhere, not anywhere.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but damn it, does it make a man somber.
She writes new stories, he reads and collects them.
She writes about romances and unexpected adventures, he remembers them.
She forgot, he remembers them.
He remembers the way she held his hand, the way she would scramble into his arms whenever she would cry, or how his heart felt after she would smile at him-
Henri Azazel didn’t just miss his wife.
He missed Merize.
He missed how she would hold her pens as she drew, how she would practically beg for sweets, how she smiled, how she talked-
Henri tied another trashbag before heading to the kitchen and began to wash the dishes.
Henri always missed Merize. Every day, every year, every big event, every small inconvenience.
But did she miss him?
The thought made him freeze, his hand clenching a plate so tightly that he had to force himself to loosen his grip.
She had long forgotten him, since their relationship was exposed, she had to. She had to stay safe. Henri fought as hard as he could, but it wasn’t enough. The spell made her forget everything. Made her forget him and worse, their daughter. They had to put the spell on her so she could go back to living her normal human life.
But did they have to let her go?
A sob broke out of Henri before he could stop it.
The only thing worse than Henri not having his wife was his daughter not having a mother.
She needed her more than anyone.
But despite her mother’s absence, Ameri learned everything on her own. It hurt. Of course it did. But like her mother, she was resilient. She found her way. She learned how to dress, to apply makeup, to take care of herself, to laugh.
Henri wiped some of the tears from his eyes, a wobbly smile forming along his lips.
She laughed just like her.
If asked, people would say that Ameri and her father were one in the same. Same hair, eyes, stature and even some personality traits.
But if someone asked Henri?
He would say she is just like her mother. Just like Merize.
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The living room had returned to its original uncluttered state, the floors cleaned and wiped down, the dishes washed and neatly put away, with Henri fast asleep on the couch. It’s not easy being the father of the birthday girl after all.
The morning sun had begun to rise and so had his daughter.
Ameri walked out of her room and noticed her sleeping father on the couch as a small smile spread along her face. He always overworked himself, even for events that were just for fun.
Ameri gently draped a blanket over her father with such undemon like grace and gentleness.
“Thank you for the perfect birthday, Father.” She whispered despite knowing he was too deep in sleep for her words to register in his ears.
She quietly walked away and walked into the kitchen to prepare some coffee for her father, the one thing she can make without burning down a kitchen.
Ameri had a great birthday, she always did, but this one was probably her favorite. She got to spend time with not only her father but her friends too, before she used to never invite people over. But now? She always wanted to.
She couldn’t remember the last time she was so happy.
Her friends went out of their way to spoil her, which she wasn’t expecting. She was given so many things, Clara had gotten her plushies and snacks, Asmodeous gifted her hair accessories, Elizabetta gave her new perfume and her other friends had gifted her so much more.
But one of her favorite gifts needed something else.
To be hung up on a wall.
One of her favorite gifts was from Iruma, of course.
Iruma had expressed his new found interest in art with his grandfather, who without hesitation, enrolled him in the best art classes he could. There in one of those classes Iruma had specifically asked about making portraits and painting hair. When he had learned how, he gifted it to Ameri for her birthday.
The painting of her wasn’t perfect, it’s hard to make something perfect as a beginner, but the thought and all the effort behind the painting meant more to her than Ameri was willing to admit.
She also remembered how quiet her father got when he saw it, it wasn’t disgust or disdain, he actually seemed quite pleased in some sort of bittersweet way. He promised he would help her hang it up tomorrow.
Ameri walked back to her sleeping father and set a cup of coffee and a napkin down on the table near his dream consumed form.
Ameri knew how much her father cared for her, she knew she was his whole world.
But more than anything?
She knew she would always be loved by him and her mother in the stories he would tell her about.
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A few minutes passed before Henri had finally woken up, his back stiff from his awkward position that he had slept in.
When his fiery eyes finally exposed themselves to the world outside of his dreams, they landed on the small cup of coffee close to him, he smiled to himself. He knew exactly who left it there.
Father’s intuition and all.
He was the luckiest man in the Netherworld by far.
Never had a man been loved so dearly and never had one been able to love so dearly in return.
And he knew that missing certain events, stages or people, made him all the luckier. It was a luxury to miss someone and the past so much.
He took a sip of his coffee, wincing softly at the taste before chuckling to himself. Ameri was still learning to get the hang of making coffee, that much was evident.
He was a lucky man indeed.