“I don’t want your money,” she said firmly. “If I come back, it won’t be to cover your absence. You’ll be there. Birthdays. Bedtime. Tantrums. All of it. I’ll guide you—but you’ll be their father. Can you do that?”
Alexander met her eyes.
“I won’t run anymore. I promise.”
That afternoon, the girls sat silently in the living room when the front door opened.
They flinched.
But when they looked up, Lucy stood beside their father.
“Lucy!” they cried, running into her arms.
She hugged them tightly, then looked at Alexander.
“Your daddy came to bring me back,” she told them gently. “Because he loves you very much.”
Alexander stepped forward, pulling off his expensive jacket and dropping it to the floor. He knelt, arms open—no rush, no distractions.
“Daddy’s not leaving anymore,” he said through tears. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Chloe stepped forward first, touching his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck. The others followed.
They collapsed into one messy, tearful embrace on the marble floor.
Six months later, the mansion was unrecognizable.
Toys cluttered the living room. Drawings covered the refrigerator. Music filled the halls.