The hospital ride blurred into flashing lights and fear. In the backseat, Sofia struggled for breath while the twins—who said their names were Aria and Maya—sang softly to “keep the monsters away.”
At the emergency room of a public hospital, Michael demanded help—not as a tycoon, but as a terrified man.
“Severe pneumonia. She’s septic,” a doctor called out.
Left in the hallway with the girls, Michael finally knelt in front of them.
“Have you eaten?”
“Yesterday’s bread,” Aria answered.
He bought them food and watched them devour it. Then Maya looked at him carefully.
“Are you rich?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you help us?”
He touched the bracelet gently. “Because I knew your mom.”
Aria hesitated. “She said our dad was important. That he didn’t know about us. That if he did, he’d come.”
Michael felt the floor shift beneath him.
“She said that?”
“She wrote to him,” Maya added. “But men in black suits wouldn’t let her see him. She said his family stopped her.”
That night, while Sofia fought for her life, Michael ordered a rushed DNA test. He didn’t truly need it—but he needed proof.
At dawn, he returned to the place they’d lived. Hidden under a loose floorboard was a box. Inside: letters.