Instead, I swallow the words. Those dreams died the moment I learned she'd kept my children from me.
"They need winter clothes, their special blankets to sleep?—"
"Make me a list." My tone brooks no argument. "I'll get whatever they need."
She looks away first, nodding slowly. "I'll have it ready tomorrow."
I push off from the counter, heading toward the door.
Part of me wants to stay, to continue building whatever fragile connection we'd started before the truth exploded between us. But the wound is too fresh, the betrayal too deep.
I drive home with the windows down despite the December chill, needing the cold air to clear my head.
The streets blur past as my mind races with everything I need to do before Friday.
Clothes. Toys.
Converting guest rooms into children’s rooms.
Three children require more than just space.
They need a home.
I’m a father.
The thought both terrifies and exhilarates me.
For years, I've lived like a man passing through. Even after returning from Italy, I never fully settled.
Now I have reason to build something permanent.
I arrive home noting the lights are on in the main sitting room. Strange for this hour.
Inside, I find my father sitting by the fireplace, staring into the flames. He looks up when I enter, his eyes momentarily clear.
"Luca," he says, smiling. "You're home late."
I loosen my tie, dropping into the chair opposite him. I need to tell him about Elena. About the kids. “I’m glad you’re up. I’ve got news.”
My father tilts his head, confusion flickering across his features. “Where’s your mother? She’ll want to hear it too.”
My heart sinks. He's somewhere in the past now. I decide to wait to tell him about the kids another time.
I retreat to my father's office—my office now—and close the door behind me.
The room still holds his presence, but that’s okay. It helps me feel supported to sense his power.
I sink into the chair and let out a breath. I’m a father. The reality keeps hitting me in waves.
I pull out my phone and dial Gabriella. Despite the hour, she answers on the second ring.
"Everything okay?" Her voice is alert, no trace of sleep.
“I’m a father. The triplets are mine."
A sharp intake of breath. "She confirmed it?"
"Yes." I press my fingers against my temple, the headache that's been threatening all evening finally takes hold. "We told the kids. They… they called me 'Daddy'."
