As I write this blog post, my five-year-old daughter is crying herself to sleep. I went to her room and asked her what was wrong. She wouldn’t look at me at first, instead bawling while facing the wall. Slowly she rolled toward me with her watery eyes and said, “I had a rough day.”

“What happened?” I asked as I placed my hand on her shoulder.

“One reason was because of the chocolate cake,” she sniffled as she answered.

I sat up knowing this one was on me. I caused the chocolate cake incident. Let’s rewind and take a look at what unfolded.

Over the weekend, my family and I met with friends and agreed to bring dessert. We brought a huge crowd-pleaser, a chocolate cake from Costco. If you’re like me, nothing beats the chocolate mousse in the center of a Costco cake.

We are now back at tonight. After dinner, my wife grabbed the remaining cake for dessert. My son and daughter were ready to dig in, but they saw their best friends outside next door. They ran to the backyard to play, leaving my wife and I alone with the cake.

My wife cut herself a piece of cake, and I got one for myself, as well. We also gave a small piece to our one-and-a-half-year-old. This left one medium-sized piece of cake sitting all alone on a plate.

Just sitting there…

All by itself…

So lonely…

Just one measly, tiny, medium-sized piece of cake wanting to fulfill it’s destiny of being eaten…

The agony…

Fine, I’ll eat it, I thought. That’s just what I did. I ate the last, tiny, itsy-bitsy medium-sized piece of cake. It was delicious.

Thirty minutes passed and we told our kids to come in so they could get ready for bed. As soon as my daughter came inside, she asked me if she could have a piece of chocolate cake. I paused knowing the answer was “It’s gone”, but I didn’t want to tell her.

“We have other cake,” I replied.

“I want a piece of the chocolate Costco cake,” she told me as she looked around.

“Oh, that cake is, uh, we have other cake,” I tried again.

She could tell by my panicked expression, I ate the rest of the cake. Her eyes started to well up with tears. “But Dad, there was a half circle left when I went outside.” She sat on the couch and placed her face in her hands.

I didn’t know what to say as I sat down next to her. She had to know the truth. “I did eat it. I’m sorry.”

She looked up and sobbed, “Did you not even save me a crumb?”

I felt terrible. The answer is, no, I didn’t even save a crumb. Every bit of the delicious chocolate cake is gone.

Up I sprang from the couch then ran to the kitchen. Luckily I found another desert she would like. I offered it to her, and she reluctantly accepted. Disaster averted, or so I thought. Once she laid down, all the feelings of loss associated with a night without chocolate cake was too much to overcome. The tears started flowing and they didn’t stop.

Now here I sit finishing my blog post while my daughter goes to sleep sad. The hardest part is knowing this all could have been avoided if I had understood the importance of saving a piece of chocolate cake.