Finn stares down at it, slightly lopsided powdered sugar eyes staring back up at him.

Mom had loved making him stuff like this when he was litte, and Jake had picked up that mantle after her. “You are special, you are loved,” a little carefully frosted cupcake or a crudely cut and powedered piece of toast would say. Someone wants to see you smile.

“I…really messed up, Jake.”