“Mama, are we really going to meet Grandpa today?” Logan asked, his eyes shining.
“And Grandma?” Chloe added.
I smiled gently. “Maybe.”
Across from me sat my four children in matching Christmas outfits. Two boys. Two girls. Quadruplets. Eight years old. And every single one of them had Dominic’s eyes, Dominic’s smile, and Dominic’s stubborn jaw. No one could look at them and miss the resemblance.
The irony was almost cruel. The man who had run from fatherhood had four children waiting to meet him. He just didn’t know it yet.
When the snowy mountains of Colorado appeared below us, my heartbeat quickened. Not from fear—from anticipation.
The helicopter landed on the front lawn of Victoria Vance’s Boulder mansion at exactly 11:47 a.m. Snow whipped around us as the rotors slowed. The door opened, and I stepped out first, letting the cold mountain air hit my face.
