Lauren guided the triplets inside. They clung to her hands, wide-eyed at the chandelier glittering overhead.
Ethan disappeared for a moment and returned with thick towels. “Dry off. I’ll have food brought up.”
“We can’t stay here,” Lauren repeated, softer this time. “Just let me find a shelter.”
“You’re staying,” he said. “At least tonight.”
The tone left no room for argument.
Lauren swallowed her pride. The kids were too tired, too hungry, too cold to keep moving.
The children sat on the couch, small bodies sinking into butter-soft leather. Ethan’s gaze lingered on them—the curve of a smile, the tilt of a brow, details that looked uncomfortably familiar.
He turned away quickly.
Moments later, his housekeeper, Mrs. Lang, appeared, startled by the sight of guests. Ethan gave crisp instructions for warm soup, blankets, and extra clothes.
When Mrs. Lang left, silence filled the room again, broken only by the clinking of spoons as the kids began to eat.
Lauren watched them, tears sliding down her face. She hadn’t cried when she lost her job, or when the landlord changed the locks. But seeing her babies finally warm and fed inside her ex-husband’s mansion cracked something deep within her.