The cold wind swept through Oakwood Cemetery in Rhode Island, rustling the golden-brown leaves that had begun to gather around the freshly dug grave. The sky was a dull gray, a fitting backdrop to the grief weighing down on the mourners.

Among them stood Jackson Montgomery, a man known for his immense wealth, his business empire, and the power that came with being one of Wall Street’s most formidable investors. Yet today, none of that mattered. Today, he was just a man who had lost his wife.

Eleanor had been his anchor. She was the only one who had ever really seen the man behind the millions, behind the ruthless decisions, behind the suit and tie. They had built a life together, one filled with love, laughter, and regret. The regret of never having children had always haunted them, but they had learned to live with it.

Now, as he stood by her grave watching the coffin being lowered into the earth, a hollow opened in his chest. It was as if part of him had been buried along with her.

The funeral was grand, as everyone had expected. Rhode Island’s elite had gathered—some out of genuine sorrow, others simply because it was the social event of the season. Colleagues, business partners, and acquaintances came forward to offer their condolences, each handshake and hug feeling mechanical.

Jackson barely registered any of it. His world had gone silent, drowned by the echoes of Eleanor’s laughter, the warmth of her voice that would never reach his ears again. He wanted the crowd to disappear, to leave him alone with his grief, but he knew that was impossible. A man like him was never truly alone—except in the ways that mattered.

As the service ended and people began to drift away, Jackson remained still, staring at the polished wood of the coffin now covered in dirt. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled his coat tighter around himself, the cold biting through the fabric.

His driver, Thomas—an older man who had been with the Montgomery family for decades—waited patiently at a distance, knowing his employer needed this moment.

Jackson took a deep breath and finally turned to leave.

That was when he saw them.

Three small figures stood near the edge of the cemetery, half-hidden behind a tall oak tree. Three identical little girls with auburn hair tied back in neat ponytails, wearing matching navy-blue coats. Their faces were pale, their expressions unreadable as they watched him with an intensity that seemed beyond their years.

They weren’t dressed like the other attendees. While most wore expensive black coats and designer scarves, these children wore simple jackets and plain dresses. They looked to be about eight years old, and there was something eerily synchronized about the way they stood—hands clasped together as if drawing strength from one another.

Jackson frowned, trying to place them. He didn’t recognize them from any family gathering, nor did they look like they belonged to any of the business associates who had attended. Yet there was something about them, something that made his heart beat just a little faster, though he couldn’t explain why.

One of the girls—he couldn’t tell which; they were so identical—took a hesitant step forward, then stopped, as if reconsidering. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and Jackson felt a strange pull toward her, toward them.

Before he could move or say anything, all three girls turned in perfect unison and walked away, disappearing behind the oak tree.

“Sir?” Thomas’s voice broke through his thoughts. “The car is ready.”

Jackson glanced once more in the direction where the triplets had vanished, then shook his head. It was probably nothing. Maybe they were relatives of the cemetery caretaker. Maybe they lived nearby and were simply curious about the large gathering.

He dismissed the strange encounter and walked toward the car, his mind already sinking back into the abyss of loss.

That night, as he sat in his Manhattan penthouse overlooking the city skyline, the image of the three identical girls haunted him.

He had never been one to dwell on strangers, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something significant about their presence at the cemetery.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling under the dim light of his study. His eyes flickered toward a framed photograph of Eleanor on his desk.

“I miss you,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

Eleanor had always been the one to see meaning in things, to believe that everything happened for a reason. If she were here, she would have told him not to ignore his gut feeling about the girls.

He sighed and took a sip of his drink, telling himself it was just grief playing tricks on his mind.

But deep down, he knew this was not the last time he would see them.

Jackson Montgomery had never been a man to dwell on the past or obsess over insignificant moments. His life was built on calculated decisions and forward motion. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t get the image of those three identical little girls out of his mind.

That night, sleep refused to come.

He lay awake in his penthouse, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the city. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them again: standing by the oak tree, their faces pale, their movements synchronized, watching him with an intensity that felt almost familiar.

By morning, he had convinced himself he was overthinking it. The funeral had been emotionally exhausting. Maybe he had simply imagined the significance of the moment.

Grief could play strange tricks on the mind.

The next afternoon, Jackson found himself sitting in his office on the fifty-fourth floor of Montgomery Investments, staring blankly at quarterly reports. His assistant had scheduled back-to-back meetings, but he had barely paid attention to any of them.

His mind was elsewhere.

He had spent his entire life making calculated decisions, solving problems, and predicting market trends with precision. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that this—those three little girls—was something important. Something he needed to understand.

Frustrated with himself, he picked up his phone and called Thomas.

“I need you to do something for me,” Jackson said as soon as his driver answered. “Do you remember those three little girls at the cemetery yesterday? The ones who stood by the oak tree?”

There was a brief pause before Thomas responded.

“Yes, sir. Three identical girls. They seemed to be watching the service from a distance.”

“Exactly. I need to find out who they are.”

Jackson ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, aware of how unusual his request must sound, even to someone who had seen as much of his life as Thomas had.

“Check with the cemetery staff. Maybe they saw something. Find out whatever you can.”

Thomas agreed without question—one of the many reasons Jackson valued him—and ended the call.

Later that evening, as Jackson sat in his penthouse with a drink in hand, his phone rang. It was Thomas.

“Sir, I found them.”

Jackson sat up straight, his heartbeat quickening.

“Who are they?”

“Their names are Harper, Haley, and Hannah Wilson,” Thomas said. “They’re eight years old. They live in Brooklyn with their aunt, Charlotte.” He hesitated. “And, sir… there’s something else. Their mother was a woman named Meredith Wilson.”

The glass nearly slipped from Jackson’s hand at the mention of that name.

Meredith Wilson.

A name he hadn’t heard in almost a decade, but one he had never forgotten.

They had met at a university fundraiser, where she’d been a brilliant young professor of literature. Their relationship had been brief but intense—a whirlwind of passion, intellectual connection, and possibility that had ended when his career demanded a move to London.

“Sir?” Thomas’s voice pulled him back to the present. “There’s more. Meredith passed away three months ago. Leukemia.”

Jackson’s throat tightened.

“And the girls,” he managed, “you said they’re eight?”

“Yes, sir. Born May 12th, nine years ago.”

Nine years.

The timing aligned perfectly with his relationship with Meredith.

A heavy realization settled over him like a weight.

“Thank you, Thomas,” he said quietly, before hanging up.

Jackson walked to the window, looking out at the city lights below, his mind racing with implications.

Three identical girls.

Eight years old.

Meredith’s daughters.

His daughters.

Thomas arrived at Jackson’s penthouse early the next morning with a manila folder in hand.

Jackson hadn’t slept. His mind had been racing all night with questions, possibilities, and a growing sense of certainty that threatened to overturn his entire world.

“Everything I could find is in here, sir,” Thomas said, placing the folder on the glass coffee table. “It wasn’t easy, but I have a friend in public records.”

Jackson nodded, his hand hesitant before he finally opened the folder.

Inside were birth certificates for Harper Grace Wilson, Haley Rose Wilson, and Hannah Faith Wilson—each born within minutes of the others at NewYork–Presbyterian Hospital. Mother: Meredith Wilson. Father: not listed.

His throat tightened as he examined copies of school registration forms, medical records, and finally, a death certificate for Meredith Wilson.

Cause of death: complications from acute myeloid leukemia.

“Aunt Charlotte Wilson works as a high school counselor in Brooklyn,” Thomas continued. “She’s been raising the girls since Meredith passed. From what I gather, they’re struggling financially. Medical bills wiped out whatever savings Meredith had.”

Jackson stared at a newspaper clipping about Meredith’s academic achievements. Tenured professor of English literature at Columbia by thirty-two. Published author. Respected in her field.

And all along, she had been raising triplet daughters alone.

“There’s one more thing,” Thomas added hesitantly. “I found this.”

He handed Jackson a photograph.

Three little girls in tutus at what appeared to be a ballet recital, their identical faces beaming with joy. Standing behind them was Meredith. Thinner than Jackson remembered, her once vibrant features gaunt, but her smile radiant with pride.

Something broke inside him.

She’d never told him.

All these years, he’d had daughters—three beautiful daughters—and had never known.

Had she kept them from him out of spite, or something else?

“Did you find anything about why she never contacted me?” Jackson asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas shook his head.

“Nothing concrete, sir. But I did speak to a neighbor who knew Meredith well. She said Meredith was fiercely independent. Never wanted to be seen as asking for handouts. Apparently, she told friends the girls’ father had made it clear his career came first. That he’d moved on to bigger things.”

Jackson closed his eyes, remembering their final conversation before he left for London. Meredith had asked him to stay, saying they could build something real together. He had dismissed it as impractical romanticism, telling her that his career path was set and couldn’t accommodate serious relationships.

He’d been so young. So ambitious. So foolish.

“Find out where they live,” Jackson said, his decision crystallizing. “Their schedules, school, activities—everything.”

“Sir, if I may,” Thomas said carefully, “these girls just lost their mother. They don’t know you. Approaching them might be—”

“I know,” Jackson interrupted. “I need to be careful. I’m not going to barge into their lives and announce myself as their father. But I need to see them, Thomas. I need to understand what Meredith created without me.”

That afternoon, Jackson sat in his town car across from PS 107 in Park Slope, Brooklyn, watching as children streamed out of the building.

And then he saw them.

Three identical girls in navy-blue school uniforms, backpacks slung over their shoulders, walking together in step.

His daughters.

The girls who would change everything.

For the next week, Jackson Montgomery lived a double life.

By day, he was the ruthless Wall Street investor, making deals and commanding boardrooms. By late afternoon, he was a silent observer, parked discreetly near ballet studios, schoolyards, and parks—anywhere Harper, Haley, and Hannah spent their time.

He learned their patterns. Mondays and Wednesdays were ballet lessons. Thursdays they attended an after-school art program. Fridays, their aunt, Charlotte, took them for ice cream at a small shop in Park Slope.

He watched them from a distance, recognizing pieces of himself in each girl: the determined set of Harper’s jaw, Haley’s analytical way of observing everything, Hannah’s graceful movements.

But it wasn’t enough. He needed to know more.

“I want everything,” Jackson told Thomas. “Medical history, school reports. Who their friends are. What books they read. I need to understand them.”

Thomas, ever loyal but increasingly concerned, compiled what he could.

“Sir,” he said carefully, handing over another folder one evening, “there’s something you should see first.”

Inside was a letter—not addressed to Jackson, but to the girls. It had been found among Meredith’s personal effects after her death, according to Thomas’s source at the hospital where she’d spent her final days.

Jackson unfolded the pages with trembling hands, recognizing Meredith’s elegant handwriting immediately.

My darling girls,

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve had to leave you sooner than I wanted. There’s so much I still needed to teach you, so many moments I wished to share. But know this: you have been the greatest joy of my life—my three perfect miracles.

There’s something I should have told you about your father.

His name is Jackson Montgomery. He was brilliant, ambitious, and for a brief time, the love of my life.

When I discovered I was carrying you, he had already left for a new life in London. I made a choice then—perhaps right, perhaps wrong—not to tell him about you. It wasn’t because he wouldn’t have cared. It was because I saw his path clearly: a future of tremendous success that required his complete dedication. I couldn’t bear to be the one who forced him to choose, or worse, to be resented by him for changing the course of his life.

So I chose for all of us, and embraced the beautiful challenge of raising you alone.

I’ve never regretted that decision. Not when I saw your first smiles, heard your first words, or watched you take your first steps. But I’ve often wondered if you might someday need him—or if he might need you.

If someday you wish to find him, know that my choice doesn’t bind you. You have that right.

All my love, forever and always,
Mom

Jackson read the letter three times, tears streaming down his face.

She hadn’t kept the girls from him out of malice or spite. She had given him the freedom to pursue his ambitions, shouldering the burden alone.

The weight of her sacrifice crushed him.

“She never even tried to contact me,” he whispered, more to himself than to Thomas.

“According to her sister, Charlotte, she almost did once,” Thomas said quietly. “When the girls were about three, Meredith was struggling financially. She looked you up, found you’d married Eleanor, and seemed to be building the exact life she’d imagined for you. She decided then to let you be.”

Jackson closed his eyes, imagining Meredith alone with three toddlers, working to support them, never asking for help, while he and Eleanor had everything—everything except the children they desperately wanted.

The irony was unbearable.

“I need to meet them,” he said finally. “Not as their father. Not yet. But somehow, I need to be in their lives.”

Jackson sat on a park bench in Prospect Park, his heart racing beneath his casual attire.

Gone was the tailored suit, replaced by jeans and a simple button-down shirt—an attempt to look less intimidating. Thomas had arranged the meeting through Charlotte Wilson, who had been surprisingly receptive once Jackson explained who he was and showed her Meredith’s letter.

“They know you’re someone who knew their mother,” Charlotte had told him over the phone. “That’s all—for now. The rest is up to you.”

Now, as he watched the path where Charlotte would bring the girls, Jackson rehearsed what he’d say.

How did you introduce yourself to children you’d created but never known? Children who had just lost their mother and had no idea who you really were?

He spotted them before they saw him.

Three identical figures in different-colored jackets—Harper in red, Haley in blue, Hannah in purple. Charlotte had told him they insisted on wearing different colors, their small rebellion against being seen as one unit rather than three individuals.

Charlotte caught his eye and nodded, leaning down to whisper something to the girls. They approached cautiously, studying him with identical expressions of curiosity and suspicion.

“Girls, this is Mr. Montgomery,” Charlotte said. “The friend of your mom’s I told you about.”

Jackson stood, suddenly feeling awkward and oversized in their presence.

“Hello,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Thank you for meeting me.”

The girls said nothing, maintaining a unified front.

“Why don’t you three go play for a bit while Mr. Montgomery and I talk?” Charlotte suggested, gesturing toward a nearby playground.

The triplets exchanged glances, having one of those silent conversations only multiples seem capable of. Finally, they moved toward the swings, still watching Jackson over their shoulders.

“That’s Harper in red,” Charlotte explained, sitting beside him. “She’s the protector. The firstborn. Haley in blue is the thinker—always analyzing, always questioning. And Hannah in purple is the peacemaker. She feels everything the most deeply.”

Jackson nodded, trying to commit their differences to memory.

“How much does she look like Meredith,” he murmured as he watched Hannah’s gentle movements.

“They all have pieces of her,” Charlotte said. “And pieces of you. Harper has your determination. Haley has your analytical mind. Hannah has your artistic sensitivity—though you might not recognize that in yourself.”

They watched the girls play, maintaining their distance from other children, sufficient unto themselves.

“They’ve been through so much,” Charlotte continued. “Meredith was sick for almost a year before she…” She trailed off. “They’re still processing it. Harper barely speaks anymore. Haley has nightmares. Hannah draws the same picture over and over—their mother in a hospital bed.”

Jackson felt a tightness in his chest.

“I want to help them,” he said quietly.

“With all due respect, Mr. Montgomery, they don’t need your money,” Charlotte replied. “They need stability. Consistency. If you’re going to be in their lives, it can’t be halfway.”

Before Jackson could respond, Harper approached, the other two trailing behind her.

She stood directly in front of him, arms crossed.

“Did you really know our mom?” she demanded, her voice strong despite her small stature.

Jackson met her gaze, recognizing the challenge there.

“Yes,” he said truthfully. “A long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you ever visit her?” Harper asked. “Why haven’t we met you before?”

Jackson glanced at Charlotte, who gave him a small nod.

“I lived far away for many years,” he said. “If I had known about you three, I would have visited.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re rich, aren’t you? I saw your car.”

“Harper,” Charlotte admonished gently.

“It’s okay,” Jackson said. “I am.”

Harper’s next words cut straight through him.

“Then why didn’t you help Mom when she was sick? Rich people can get special doctors.”

The simplicity of her logic—and the accusation in her eyes—left Jackson without a defense.

Before he could formulate an answer, Hannah stepped forward and studied his face intently.

“Mom had a picture of you,” she said softly. “In her special box.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Haley, who had been quietly observing, asked the question that changed everything.

“Were you in love with our mom?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment Jackson felt as though he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Three identical pairs of eyes watched him with the directness only children possess. This wasn’t a boardroom negotiation. There was no strategic answer that would win him points or close a deal.

There was only the truth.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, I was.”

Something shifted in the girls’ expressions. Subtle, but unmistakable.

It was Hannah who spoke next, her voice gentle.

“She had a special smile when she talked about you. Different from her regular smile.”

Jackson swallowed hard.

“What did she tell you about me?” he asked.

“Not much,” Harper admitted, arms still crossed but less tightly. “Just that you were smart and ambitious and lived far away.”

“She said you were going to change the world,” Haley added, her gaze still assessing him. “Did you?”

The question struck Jackson like a physical blow.

Had he changed the world?

He’d made billions, controlled markets, transformed skylines with his investments. But sitting here, facing these three little girls—his daughters—all of that seemed remarkably hollow.

“I tried,” he answered honestly. “But I’m not sure I succeeded in the ways that truly matter.”

Charlotte stood and placed a hand on Harper’s shoulder.

“Girls, we should head home. It’s getting late, and you have ballet in the morning.”

“Can I see you again?” Jackson asked, directing the question more to the triplets than to Charlotte. “Only if you want to, of course.”

The girls exchanged glances—another silent conference.

Finally, Harper spoke for all of them.

“Maybe,” she said. “We’ll think about it.”

As he watched them walk away, hand in hand with their aunt, Jackson felt something he hadn’t experienced in decades:

A complete loss of control over a situation.

These three small humans held all the power.

And rightly so.

Back in his penthouse that night, Jackson stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan—the city he had helped shape through countless investments and developments.

The view had always filled him with satisfaction.

Tonight, it left him empty.

He walked through the immaculate space: five thousand square feet of luxury that suddenly felt excessive and lonely. The guest rooms had never hosted children. The kitchen had never seen small hands making messes. The hallways had never echoed with laughter or footsteps running from room to room.

In his home office, surrounded by awards, financial reports, and trophies of his professional success, Jackson opened his laptop and typed into the search bar:

raising triplet girls.

Soon he was immersed in articles about multiple-birth psychology, the importance of recognizing individuality, common developmental challenges. By morning, his desk was covered with notes. He’d ordered books on child development, researched the best schools in the city, and compiled information on ballet programs.

He’d even looked into houses near good school districts—places with yards, separate bedrooms for each girl, space to grow.

At dawn, he called Thomas.

“I need you to clear my schedule for the next two weeks,” he said. “Everything except the Collins merger. That stays.”

“Sir, you have the investor meeting in Boston tomorrow, and the board expects—”

“Cancel it,” Jackson interrupted. “All of it. And find me someone who designs children’s rooms. Decorators, designers—whatever they’re called. I need to understand how to make a home that three eight-year-old girls might someday feel comfortable in.”

“Of course, sir,” Thomas replied, masking his surprise. “And shall I arrange another meeting with Ms. Wilson and the girls?”

“Not yet,” Jackson said, staring at the photograph of the triplets at their ballet recital. “They need to decide when they’re ready. In the meantime, I have work to do.”

For the first time in his adult life, Jackson Montgomery was preparing for something his money couldn’t simply buy:

The trust of three little girls who had every reason to keep their distance, and who held the keys to a future he’d never imagined possible.

It took twelve days for Charlotte to call.

Twelve days during which Jackson transformed the east wing of his penthouse, consulted with child psychologists, and rearranged his entire corporate structure to free up his afternoons. Twelve days of wondering if he’d ever hear from his daughters again.

“They have a ballet showcase this Saturday,” Charlotte said when she finally called, her voice measured. “Hannah mentioned that you might want to attend.”

Jackson gripped the phone tighter.

“Hannah said that?”

“Yes. Specifically Hannah.”

A pause.

“Mr. Montgomery, I need to be clear. They don’t know who you really are yet. They think you’re just an old friend of Meredith’s who’s recently come back into their lives.”

“I understand,” Jackson replied, though the deception troubled him. “And please… call me Jackson.”

“Jackson, then. The showcase starts at three. Parkside Ballet Academy.”

Saturday found Jackson sitting in the back row of a small auditorium filled with parents, grandparents, and siblings clutching bouquets and cameras. He felt conspicuously out of place in his casual clothes, still unable to blend in despite his efforts.

The program listed the triplets in the intermediate group performance: “Waltz of the Flowers” from The Nutcracker.

When they appeared on stage in identical pale pink tutus, Jackson’s breath caught.

They moved with surprising grace for eight-year-olds, their synchronization both eerie and beautiful. Yet even in perfect unison, he could see their differences: Harper’s movements more precise, Haley’s more technical, Hannah’s more expressive.

“They’re quite talented,” whispered a woman beside him. “Such discipline at their age.”

Jackson nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

Pride—unfamiliar and overwhelming—washed over him.

These extraordinary children shared his DNA.

Yet he’d had nothing to do with their development, their talents, their resilience.

After the performance, he waited in the lobby with a small bouquet in hand. When the triplets emerged with Charlotte, their faces flushed with exertion and excitement, Hannah spotted him first.

She tugged on Harper’s sleeve and pointed.

“You came,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

“I said I would,” Jackson replied, kneeling to their level and offering the flowers. “You were amazing up there.”

Haley accepted the bouquet, examining it with her usual analytical gaze.

“These are specialty roses,” she said. “They don’t sell these at regular florists.”

Jackson smiled.

“You know your flowers.”

“Mom was a botanist before she became a professor,” Harper said, her guard still up but slightly less hostile than before. “She taught us all the Latin names.”

“Rosa centifolia,” Hannah added softly. “Mom’s favorite.”

Jackson’s heart skipped. He’d chosen Meredith’s favorite without knowing.

A coincidence that didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.

“Would you like to get ice cream?” he offered. “To celebrate your performance?”

The girls looked to Charlotte, who nodded.

“We were heading there anyway. You’re welcome to join us, Jackson.”

At the ice cream parlor, Jackson watched the girls debate flavors with fierce intensity, negotiating tastes and combinations like seasoned diplomats. When they finally sat down with their elaborate sundaes, he noticed Haley studying him over her spoon.

“Why did you come back now?” she asked suddenly. “After Mom died.”

Charlotte tensed, but Jackson had been expecting the question.

“I didn’t know about your mother’s passing until recently,” he said truthfully. “When I found out, I wanted to meet you. Because…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Because your mother was very special to me. And I thought perhaps I could be a friend to you three as well.”

“We have friends,” Harper said flatly.

“Of course you do,” Jackson acknowledged. “But sometimes it’s good to have adult friends too. People who can help with different things.”

“Like what?” Hannah asked, curious.

“Well,” Jackson said, “I know quite a bit about the city. I could show you places your mother might have enjoyed. Or help with homework. Or just… listen, if you ever want to talk.”

The triplets exchanged glances—another silent conversation.

“We’ll think about it,” Harper said at last, her standard response.

But as they were leaving, Hannah slipped her small hand into Jackson’s for just a moment.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she whispered. “And for coming to see us dance.”

It was a tiny gesture.

To Jackson, it felt monumental.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Thomas asked, eyeing the modest brownstone apartment building in Park Slope a few weeks later.

“Charlotte invited me,” Jackson said, adjusting the collar of his shirt, feeling oddly nervous. “She said the girls want to show me something.”

It had been three weeks since the ballet showcase. In that time, Jackson had attended another performance, joined them for ice cream twice, and even sat through a children’s movie about talking animals that he’d found surprisingly engaging.

Each interaction had been brief, carefully supervised by Charlotte, and ended before any real progress could be made.

But this—being invited to their home—felt like a significant step.

Charlotte opened the door before he could knock, greeting him with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“They’re excited,” she said quietly. “Which is new. But please remember—they’re still fragile.”

The apartment was small but warm. Walls were covered with children’s artwork, bookshelves overflowed with well-loved volumes, and photographs were everywhere.

So many photographs.

Meredith with the girls as babies, as toddlers, at the beach, in the snow, blowing out birthday candles.

A documentary of a life he’d missed entirely.

“Mr. Montgomery!”

Hannah spotted him first, rushing from what appeared to be the kitchen, her face smudged with flour and her eyes bright.

“We’re baking Mom’s cookies. Come see!”

He followed her into a tiny kitchen where Harper and Haley were carefully measuring ingredients. Three identical stepstools allowed them to reach the counter, and three matching aprons protected their clothes.

“Hannah, wash your hands again,” Harper instructed, ever the authority. She glanced at Jackson. “These were Mom’s special recipe. We make them on important days.”

Jackson nodded, understanding the significance of being included in this ritual.

“What makes today important?” he asked gently.

The triplets exchanged glances.

“It’s Mom’s birthday,” Haley finally explained, her voice matter-of-fact despite the emotion behind it. “We always bake together on birthdays.”

Jackson’s throat tightened.

“I’m honored you’d let me be part of this,” he said.

For the next hour, he watched them work with surprising coordination. Hannah mixed. Haley measured. Harper oversaw the operation. Charlotte supervised from the doorway, her expression softening as she watched Jackson’s genuine amazement at the girls’ abilities.

“After cookies, we want to show you our room,” Hannah announced once the first batch was in the oven.

Their bedroom was small for three growing girls. Three narrow beds were arranged like spokes of a wheel, each with distinctive bedding that reflected their personalities. Harper’s area was neat and organized, books arranged by size. Haley’s corner housed a small telescope and a rock collection. Hannah’s space overflowed with stuffed animals and sketch pads.

“Mom let us each decorate our own section,” Haley explained, pointing to the walls, which were divided into three distinct color schemes. “She said even though we look the same, we’re not the same inside.”

“That sounds like good advice,” Jackson said, carefully taking in every detail of their living space.

“This was Mom’s,” Harper said suddenly.

She opened a wooden box on a small shared desk. Inside lay a collection of treasures: ticket stubs, pressed flowers, a few pieces of simple jewelry—and a photograph Jackson recognized immediately.

It was him and Meredith, young and laughing, his arm around her shoulders as they stood on the Columbia University campus. He remembered the day perfectly—early autumn, leaves just beginning to turn, Meredith having just learned she’d received a research grant she’d been hoping for.

“She kept this,” he whispered, more to himself than to the girls.

“She said you were her ‘what-if’ person,” Hannah offered softly.

Jackson looked up, confused.

“Her what?”

“Her what-if person,” Haley repeated. “The person who made her wonder what life would have been like if things had been different.”

The simplicity of the explanation hit Jackson with unexpected force.

He was Meredith’s what-if.

Just as she had been his, in the quiet moments when success felt empty and achievement hollow.

“Do you have a what-if person?” Harper asked, her guard momentarily lowered by the shared moment of vulnerability.

Jackson looked at the three of them—these perfect combinations of himself and Meredith—and nodded.

“I did,” he said. “Your mother was mine.”

The oven timer saved him from the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. As they rushed to check the cookies, he remained in their room for a moment, touching the photograph gently before placing it back in the box.

Meredith had kept him in her life, in her own way.

Now he had to earn the right to be in their daughters’ lives in his.

Autumn arrived in New York, painting Central Park in shades of amber and gold. Jackson found himself spending his lunch breaks sitting on a bench near the pond, watching the leaves drift onto the water’s surface and thinking about three little girls who had gradually begun to occupy his thoughts, his plans, and increasingly, his heart.

The triplets had fallen into a rhythm with him. Saturday afternoons were spent at various museums, parks, or bookstores—always with Charlotte nearby, always carefully timed and structured. Jackson had learned to navigate their distinct personalities, bringing astronomy books for Haley, new ballet slippers for Hannah, and carefully selected novels for Harper, who remained the most guarded.

Today, though, he wasn’t scheduled to see them.

He sat alone, reviewing contracts on his tablet, when his phone chimed with a message from Charlotte.

Half day at school. Girls wondering if you might be free this afternoon. Something they want to ask you.

Jackson rearranged three meetings and a conference call without hesitation, then headed to their favorite spot—a small café near the American Museum of Natural History, where the owner always gave the girls extra whipped cream on their hot chocolate.

When he arrived, they were already seated at what had become “their” table. Harper was reading, Haley was explaining something with elaborate hand gestures, and Hannah was sketching in her ever-present notebook.

They looked up as he approached, and he was struck again by how identical yet different they were.

“You came,” Hannah said, beaming.

“Of course I did,” Jackson replied, taking the empty chair. “Charlotte said you wanted to ask me something.”

The triplets exchanged glances.

“We have a school project,” Harper began, her tone formal. “About family heritage.”

Jackson’s heart skipped a beat at the word family, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Everyone has to make a presentation about where their ancestors came from,” Haley explained. “With photographs and artifacts and stuff.”

“Mom had some things from her side,” Hannah added. “But we don’t know anything about…” She trailed off, but the implication was clear.

They didn’t know anything about their father’s side.

“Charlotte said you knew a lot about Mom’s friends from college,” Harper said carefully. “We thought maybe you could help us find information about other people she knew.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Jackson said, keeping his voice even despite the emotion building in his chest. “When is the project due?”

“Two weeks,” Haley replied. “We need to bring in photographs and talk about traditions and stuff.”

“Well,” Jackson said, thinking quickly, “I happen to know your mother’s family came from Scotland originally. She loved their traditions. She once made me try haggis.”

“What’s haggis?” Hannah giggled.

“Something truly terrible,” Jackson said gravely, earning smiles from all three girls. “But I could tell you more about that—and maybe help you research some Scottish traditions for your project.”

“That would be good,” Harper said, still formal but slightly less guarded. “If you want,” Hannah added shyly, “you could come to our apartment this weekend to work on it. We have all Mom’s old photo albums there.”

Jackson caught Charlotte’s eye across the café and saw her subtle surprise at the invitation. This was the first time the girls had asked him to their home rather than meeting in neutral territory.

“I’d like that very much,” he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.

As they finished their hot chocolate, Jackson noticed Haley studying him with her analytical gaze.

“Your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile,” she observed. “Just like Hannah’s do.”

The simple comment sent a jolt through him.

Was it becoming visible to them—their connection? In the small similarities they shared?

“Is that so?” he managed lightly, as Charlotte smoothly changed the subject.

But later, as he watched them leave, Jackson knew something had shifted.

They had invited him into their home.

Into their project.

Into their questions about heritage and family.

They were opening a door, however slightly, that might eventually lead to the truth.

The brownstone felt different this time as Jackson climbed the steps to Charlotte’s apartment.

This wasn’t just a casual visit. The triplets had invited him specifically to help with their heritage project.

A project about family.

Harper answered the door, her face serious as always.

“You’re exactly on time,” she observed, stepping back to let him in.

Jackson had learned that punctuality impressed her. She was a child who valued order and reliability.

Inside, the living room had been transformed into project headquarters. The coffee table was covered with craft supplies, and photo albums were stacked neatly on the couch. Hannah knelt on the floor arranging colored paper, while Haley sat cross-legged with a laptop open, clearly deep in research.

“We’re doing a trifold presentation board,” Haley explained without looking up. “One section for Mom’s heritage, one for Scotland like you said, and one for…” She hesitated. “General New York culture.”

Jackson understood the gap in their project where their father’s heritage should have been.

“I brought some things that might help,” he said, setting a bag on the couch.

He pulled out books on Scottish clans, photographs of Edinburgh, and a tin of authentic Scottish shortbread.

“These are for research,” he added, and then, with a small smile, “And maybe a snack.”

Hannah’s eyes lit up at the mention of treats, but before she could reach for them, Harper spoke.

“Before we start,” she said, her small voice surprisingly authoritative, “we need to talk about something important.”

Jackson felt his chest tighten.

“Of course.”

“We had a family meeting,” Harper continued, clearly the designated spokesperson. “About you.”

“About me,” Jackson repeated, keeping his tone neutral.

“Yes,” Haley confirmed. “We talked about why you’re spending time with us and what it means.”

“And we made some rules,” Hannah added.

Jackson blinked, surprised—and oddly impressed.

“I see,” he said. “May I hear these rules?”

Harper pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and carefully opened it.

“Rule one,” she read. “You can be our friend, but you can’t try to replace Mom.”

“I would never try to do that,” Jackson said softly. “Your mother is irreplaceable.”

Harper gave a small, satisfied nod and continued.

“Rule two: when you say you’ll do something, you have to do it. No breaking promises.”

“Absolutely,” Jackson agreed. “That’s fair.”

“Rule three,” Haley said, jumping in, “no trying to buy our friendship with expensive presents.”

“Hannah wanted to add ‘except on birthdays,’” Harper said, “but we voted and decided no exceptions.”

Jackson smiled despite the lump in his throat.

“Also fair,” he said. “No buying friendship.”

“Rule four,” Hannah added softly, “you have to be honest with us.”

The room went still.

Jackson felt Charlotte’s eyes on him from the doorway, the weight of the moment pressing down.

“Always,” he promised, the irony not lost on him. He was, after all, hiding the biggest truth of all.

“And rule five,” Harper finished, “if we decide we don’t want to see you anymore, you have to respect that.”

That last rule hit Jackson like a physical blow.

The idea that these three little girls might simply decide to remove him from their lives—that he could lose them before he’d even had the chance to fully know them—was almost unbearable.

But he understood.

They needed control. Boundaries. In a world where so much had been taken from them, this was something they could claim.

“I accept all your rules,” he said solemnly. “Thank you for being so clear about what you need.”

Something in Harper’s posture relaxed slightly. She folded the paper and tucked it back into her pocket.

“Okay,” she said. “We can start the project now.”

For the next two hours, they worked together assembling their presentation. Jackson shared stories about Meredith’s college days and Scottish traditions, careful never to steer too close to the question of paternity.

When Hannah eventually discovered the tin of shortbread and insisted on a cookie break, the atmosphere had lightened considerably.

As Jackson helped Haley research clan tartans, she suddenly asked:

“Did you know our dad?”

He nearly dropped the book he was holding.

“Why do you ask?” he managed.

She shrugged, eyes still on her laptop screen.

“Just wondering. Mom never talked about him much.”

Before Jackson could formulate a response, Charlotte stepped in smoothly.

“Girls,” she said, “why don’t you show Mr. Montgomery the photos you selected for the Scotland section?”

The moment passed, but as Jackson drove home later, Haley’s question echoed in his mind.

They were intelligent, observant.

How long before they started connecting the dots?

“What about the Central Park Zoo?” Jackson suggested one crisp Saturday afternoon, glancing across the table at the triplets as they finished their sandwiches at their usual café.

They shook their heads almost in unison.

“We’ve already been there five times,” Harper said. “Mom took us every spring.”

“The Natural History Museum, then?” he tried.

“Been there too,” Haley said. “We’ve seen all the dinosaurs twice.”

Jackson nodded, realizing he needed to suggest something new—something that wouldn’t overlap with their memories of outings with Meredith.

“What about ice skating?” Hannah suggested suddenly, her eyes brightening. “We’ve never been ice skating.”

Jackson smiled.

“Wollman Rink,” he said. “That could be fun.”

“We don’t know how,” Harper pointed out immediately.

“I could teach you,” Jackson offered. “I used to skate when I was your age.”

Another silent conference passed between them.

“Okay,” Harper said at last. “But we might not be good at it.”

“That’s the fun part,” Jackson assured her. “Learning something new together.”

An hour later, they stood at the edge of the rink in Central Park. The girls were bundled in matching scarves and mittens that Charlotte had insisted on, despite their preference for distinct colors.

Jackson had arranged for a private lesson with a professional instructor—not to show off, but because he thought the girls might feel more comfortable learning in a less crowded setting.

Harper approached the ice with determination, Haley with careful analysis, and Hannah with excited trepidation.

Each fell within the first five minutes.

Hannah giggled. Haley examined exactly how and why she’d fallen. Harper immediately got back up and tried again.

Jackson moved between them, offering a steadying hand, basic instructions, and constant encouragement.

By the second hour, all three could make their way around the rink with minimal assistance, their confidence growing with each lap.

“Watch me!” Hannah called, letting go of Jackson’s hand to glide forward independently. She wobbled but kept her balance, her face alight with pride.

“I’m doing it too!” Haley joined her, attempting a small turn that nearly ended in disaster before Jackson caught her elbow.

Even Harper seemed to be enjoying herself, her usual serious expression softened into one of focused concentration as she worked to perfect her technique.

As the afternoon wore on, the girls grew tired but refused to quit, determined to master this new skill. When Hannah finally took a hard fall, tears sprang to her eyes despite her attempts to be brave.

Jackson knelt beside her on the ice.

“You know,” he said gently, “even professional skaters fall. The important part is getting back up.”

“Does it always hurt this much?” she sniffled.

“Not always,” Jackson said honestly. “It gets easier. And you get stronger.”

She studied his face for a moment, then nodded and let him help her up.

As they made their way back to where Charlotte waited with hot chocolate, Hannah slipped her hand into Jackson’s again.

“This was fun,” she said simply. “Even the falling part.”

Haley nodded in agreement.

“The physics of skating are really interesting,” she said. “The blade creates friction against the ice, which melts a tiny layer that you glide on, but then it refreezes immediately after—”

“Haley,” Harper interrupted with an eye roll. “Not everything needs a science lesson.”

Jackson laughed.

“Actually, I think it’s fascinating,” he said. “Maybe we could find some books about the science of sports.”

Haley’s eyes lit up at the idea, and even Harper looked intrigued.

As they sat drinking hot chocolate, cheeks flushed from exertion and cold, Jackson felt something shift.

There were no grand revelations, no emotional breakthroughs—just the simple pleasure of learning something new together, of falling down and getting back up, of building memories that belonged uniquely to the four of them.

When he dropped them off at the brownstone, Harper surprised him.

“Next Saturday,” she said, “can we skate again? I want to practice my turns.”

It wasn’t an emotional declaration.

But from Harper, it was significant.

“Absolutely,” Jackson said, his heart fuller than it had been in years. “Next Saturday it is.”

The jewelry store on Fifth Avenue was used to serving wealthy clients, but even they seemed impressed by Jackson Montgomery’s request.

“Three identical lockets,” he explained to the master jeweler. “I want them similar, but with subtle differences that reflect three distinct personalities.”

The jeweler nodded, making notes.

“And the engravings you mentioned?”

Jackson handed over a piece of paper with three variations of the same message. He’d spent weeks thinking about this gift, wanting it to be meaningful but not overwhelming—something the girls might treasure without feeling uncomfortable.

“I’d like them by next Saturday,” he added.

“Mr. Montgomery, custom work of this caliber typically requires—”

“Price is no object,” Jackson said gently. “This is important.”

The following Saturday was the triplets’ ninth birthday.

Charlotte had invited him to the small celebration at their apartment—another milestone in his slowly evolving relationship with the girls.

Over the past months, they had settled into a comfortable routine. Saturdays were for outings. Tuesdays, he sometimes joined them for dinner. He attended school events and ballet recitals. He’d learned more about their individual personalities: Harper’s fierce protectiveness of her sisters and her secret love of poetry; Haley’s brilliant mind and her collection of scientific journals; Hannah’s artistic talent and her ability to sense others’ emotions.

They weren’t just “the triplets” to him anymore.

They were three distinct, extraordinary little girls.

The birthday party was small—just Charlotte, a few school friends, and Jackson. The girls had specifically requested “no little-kid decorations,” so Charlotte had compromised with sophisticated blue and silver balloons and a cake shaped like a stack of books, combining Harper’s love of reading, Haley’s love of knowledge, and Hannah’s appreciation for design.

When it was time for presents, Jackson waited until the other gifts had been opened: new ballet shoes from Charlotte, books from friends, art supplies, and science kits.

Finally, he handed each girl a small, elegantly wrapped box.

“These are special,” he said softly. “Something I thought you might want to have.”

The triplets opened them simultaneously.

Inside each box was a sterling silver locket—oval-shaped, but with subtle variations. Harper’s had a slightly more angular design. Haley’s featured a small sapphire accent. Hannah’s edges were softly scalloped.

“They’re beautiful,” Hannah whispered, already opening hers.

Inside each locket was a tiny photograph of Meredith, smiling the way the girls remembered her before her illness. On the opposite side of each locket, engraved in delicate script, were the words:

In Harper’s: Your mother’s strength lives in you.

In Haley’s: Your mother’s wisdom lives in you.

In Hannah’s: Your mother’s heart lives in you.

The room went quiet as each girl read her message.

Jackson held his breath, suddenly terrified he’d overstepped.

It was Harper who moved first. She closed her locket carefully and slipped the chain over her head. Haley followed, adjusting the length so it sat perfectly centered. Hannah looked up at Jackson, her eyes shining with tears, before putting hers on too.

“How did you know?” she asked quietly.

“Know what?” Jackson replied.

“That Mom always said those things to us,” Harper explained, her voice unusually soft. “She called me her strength.”

“And me her wisdom,” Haley added.

“And me her heart,” Hannah finished.

Jackson felt his own eyes grow damp.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted. “But your mother once told me she saw those qualities in herself. I guess she passed them to each of you.”

Charlotte, watching from nearby, gave him a small nod of approval.

As the party continued, Jackson noticed each girl touching her locket occasionally, fingers brushing the metal as if drawing comfort from it.

When it was time for him to leave, Hannah hugged him tightly, as had become her habit. Haley offered her usual high-five, but this time with a brighter smile.

Harper, still the most reserved, did something new.

She extended her hand.

“Thank you for coming to our birthday,” she said, her tone serious beyond her years. “And for remembering Mom in our presents.”

Jackson shook her small hand, matching her solemnity.

“Thank you for including me in your celebration,” he replied.

As he stepped outside and glanced back, he saw all three girls at the window, watching him go—three identical faces with three different expressions, each wearing a locket that connected them to their mother and, in some small way, to him.

Winter settled over New York, transforming the city into a landscape of white-dusted buildings and steamy windows.

For Jackson, the changing season brought new rhythms to his relationship with the triplets. Saturday ice skating had become a tradition, the girls improving each week. Tuesday dinners now featured animated debates about books, scientific facts, and ballet techniques.

Occasionally, when Charlotte needed an evening to herself, Jackson would step in—not quite babysitting, as Harper firmly pointed out, but “hanging out.”

On one such evening in early December, Jackson arrived at the brownstone with a folder tucked under his arm.

“What’s that?” Harper asked, pointing to it as he hung up his coat.

“Something I wanted to show you,” he replied. “After dinner.”

Charlotte had left homemade lasagna warming in the oven. The four of them fell into an easy routine: Jackson set the table, Haley calculated the precise reheating time, Hannah folded napkins into elaborate shapes, and Harper checked everything off on the chore chart she’d designed herself.

As they ate, Jackson noticed how much had changed in six months. Conversations now flowed naturally. Inside jokes had developed. His presence in their home felt normal.

Certain topics remained off limits. Certain memories were still too raw.

But the walls had come down.

After dinner, as the girls cleared the table, Jackson opened the folder on the coffee table.

“I have a project I wanted your opinion on,” he said casually.

The triplets gathered around, curious.

Inside were architectural drawings and floor plans.

“What is this?” Haley asked, already studying the measurements.

“I’m thinking of moving,” Jackson explained. “My current place is too big for just one person. It doesn’t feel much like a home. These are plans for a new apartment I’m considering.”

“It has four bedrooms,” Hannah noted. “That’s really big.”

“Yes,” Jackson said carefully. “One master bedroom and three others. I was hoping you three might help me decide how those rooms should be designed.”

Another silent conference passed between them.

“Why do you need three extra bedrooms?” Harper asked directly.

Jackson took a breath.

“Well,” he said, “I thought it might be nice if, someday, you three wanted to stay over occasionally. If that’s something you’d be comfortable with.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. Haley’s gaze sharpened.

“Aunt Charlotte would have to approve,” Haley pointed out.

“Of course,” Jackson said quickly. “I’ve already spoken with her. She thinks it might be a good idea eventually. But only if you want it.”

Hannah leaned over the plans, already excited.

“Could we each have our own room?” she asked. “With different colors?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Jackson said. “Each room designed specifically for each of you.”

Harper remained skeptical.

“We’ve never stayed anywhere without Aunt Charlotte,” she said. “Not since Mom.”

“I understand,” Jackson replied gently. “This doesn’t have to happen right away. It’s just… planning for possibilities.”

Haley adjusted her glasses, studying the layout.

“The room in the corner gets the most natural light,” she said. “It would be optimal for my telescope.”

Harper shot her a look.

“You’re already picking rooms?”

“I’m evaluating options,” Haley corrected. “It’s hypothetical analysis.”

Hannah grabbed a pencil and began sketching ballerinas in the margin of the blueprint.

“My room could have a barre along one wall,” she said. “For practice.”

Jackson watched them carefully, gauging their reactions.

This was delicate territory—suggesting a deeper integration into their lives, a more permanent connection.

Unexpectedly, it was Harper who asked the question that had been hovering unspoken for months.

“Why are you doing all this?” she asked quietly. “Why do you care about us so much?”

The room went quiet.

Even Hannah stopped drawing.

Jackson felt three pairs of identical eyes watching him, waiting.

He chose his words carefully.

“Because you three are the most important people in my life now,” he said. “Because knowing you, spending time with you, has changed everything for me.”

“But why?” Harper pressed. “We’re just kids you met at a funeral.”

Jackson glanced toward the kitchen, where Charlotte had appeared in the doorway, listening. She gave him a small nod, giving him permission to navigate this moment as he saw fit.

“The truth is,” he said softly, “I cared about your mother very much. And I see so much of her in each of you. But beyond that, I’ve come to care about you three for exactly who you are.”

He paused, then added:

“Some people come into our lives by birth. Some by chance. And some by choice. I’m choosing to be in your lives—if you’ll let me.”

Hannah moved first, coming to sit beside him on the couch.

“I’d like a purple room,” she said simply.

Haley nodded, tapping the corner room on the blueprint.

“And I’d need shelves,” she said. “For my rocks and journals.”

Harper didn’t join in immediately, but her expression had softened.

“I suppose,” she said slowly, “having somewhere else to stay sometimes might be… acceptable. But I’d need a bookcase. A big one.”

“The biggest I can find,” Jackson promised.

Later that night, after the girls had gone to bed and Jackson was preparing to leave, Charlotte stopped him at the door.

“You’re doing well with them,” she said quietly. “They trust you.”

“Not enough for the whole truth,” Jackson replied. “Not yet.”

“They’re smart girls,” Charlotte said. “They’re already asking questions about the similarities they see. Haley especially.”

“I know,” Jackson said. “I’m just… afraid they’ll feel betrayed.”

“That’s a risk,” Charlotte agreed. “But the longer you wait, the bigger that risk becomes.”

Jackson nodded.

“Soon,” he said. “I just want to make sure they feel secure first.”

As he left the brownstone and looked up at the windows where the girls slept, he knew she was right.

The truth was coming.

Whether he was ready or not.

“It’s really big,” Hannah whispered, her voice echoing slightly in the empty apartment.

The four of them stood in the center of Jackson’s new home—a spacious Upper West Side apartment with large windows overlooking Central Park. Six months of planning, designing, and construction had transformed the space exactly as they had envisioned together.

“Want to see your rooms?” Jackson asked, trying and failing to contain his nervousness.

The triplets nodded.

He led them down the hallway and opened three doors.

Harper’s room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a wide window seat for reading, and a soft, moss-green accent wall.

Haley’s room featured a built-in desk for her experiments, a wall of shelves for her collections, and the coveted corner windows flooding the space with natural light.

Hannah’s room had a ballet barre along one wall, soft lavender walls, and an easel by the window.

“They’re perfect,” Hannah breathed, twirling into her room.

“Dimensionally optimal,” Haley agreed, already testing the height of her desk.

Harper ran her fingers along the spines of the books Jackson had stocked her shelves with—classics and modern favorites.

“You remembered all our requests,” she said quietly.

“Every one,” Jackson said. “There’s one more room I’d like to show you.”

He led them to a door at the end of the hall.

Inside was a small study with three framed photographs on the wall: Meredith holding each of the girls as babies.

“This is the memory room,” he explained. “A place where your mother will always be part of this home too.”

For once, all three girls were speechless.

The morning was clear and crisp as Jackson stood behind the triplets at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.

Almost exactly one year had passed since Eleanor’s funeral—the day he had first glimpsed three identical little girls watching him from behind an oak tree.

Now, they stood together at Meredith’s grave.

The polished stone bearing her name caught the winter sunlight. Each girl held a single white rose.

“Mom loved white roses,” Hannah said, placing hers gently against the stone. “They symbolized new beginnings.”

“And remembrance,” Haley added, setting hers beside Hannah’s.

Harper was the last to place her flower.

“And strength,” she finished softly.

Jackson remained silent, giving them this moment.

The past year had transformed all their lives. His luxurious but empty existence was now filled with ballet recitals, science projects, and bedtime stories. Their world of loss had gradually expanded to include new possibilities, new connections.

Charlotte had helped him prepare for this day, sensing the girls were finally ready.

The triplets had been staying overnight at his apartment regularly for months now, their rooms becoming truly theirs, filled with personal treasures and memories.

Harper turned suddenly, her eyes serious as they met his.

“We know,” she said simply.

Jackson’s heart stopped.

“Know what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“That you’re our father,” Haley said calmly. “We figured it out.”

“We found Mom’s letters,” Hannah added. “The ones she never sent you.”

Jackson knelt down, bringing himself level with them.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said quietly. “I was just trying to find the right time. I never meant to lie to you. I just… didn’t want to hurt you more than you’d already been hurt.”

“We know that too,” Harper said.

Then, after a pause that felt eternal, she stepped forward and took his hand.

“Mom would be happy you’re here now,” she said.

She squeezed his fingers.

“Dad.”