Lucas stepped into the mud, then bent down and grabbed a handful of it, letting it slip through his fingers with a nervous laugh. Lily followed, kneeling beside him, her dress instantly ruined.
“Look, Dad,” she said, smiling through tears. “It’s like chocolate.”
Their laughter—soft, uncertain at first—grew louder. Real. Alive.
And suddenly, something broke inside Ethan.
He saw them—not as interruptions, not as obligations—but as children.
His children.
The memory of Isabella’s laughter echoed in his mind, her voice telling him that children needed to get messy, needed joy to grow.
His composure shattered.
He slipped in the mud and fell to his knees, his expensive suit ruined, his carefully built image collapsing with it. He stayed there, hands pressed into the wet ground, and for the first time in years, he cried.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve failed you. I’m so sorry.”
Lucas walked toward him slowly and placed a muddy hand on his shoulder. “We just wanted to play with you.”
Lily wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his. “We missed you.”