The garden of the Blackwood estate in the Hamptons was in full bloom. It was a stark contrast to that frozen Chicago street corner twenty years ago.
Marcus sat on the patio, watching the chaos.
Olivia was arguing on the phone—she was finishing law school and was already as fierce as her father. Emma was showing off her engagement ring; she had become a pediatrician, driven by the memories of her childhood illnesses. Sophia was painting by the lake; she was an artist, quiet and observant. Ava was trying to convince the family dog to wear a hat.
Elena walked out of the house, carrying a tray of lemonade. She had aged, yes, but she was beautiful. The lines on her face were from laughter now, not stress.
She sat down beside Marcus and took his hand.
“They are good girls,” she said.
“They are,” Marcus agreed. “Because of you.”
It hadn’t been easy. The first few years were hell. The girls had nightmares. They hoarded food under their beds, afraid it would run out. Olivia had hated Marcus for a long time, testing him, pushing him away.
Marcus had to earn it. He didn’t buy their love with ponies and cars (though he did buy those things). He earned it by showing up. By leaving board meetings to attend school plays. By learning to braid hair. By sitting in therapy sessions and listening to his daughters scream at him about their pain.
He had sold the company five years ago. He realized he didn’t want to be the CEO anymore. He wanted to be a Dad.
