Jordan never imagined he’d be raising triplets alone. After Kyra’s sudden death, he poured everything into caring for Alan, Eric and Stan – the living pieces of her he had left. Until the day a well-dressed stranger at her graveside shattered that illusion.
“I’m their grandfather,” the man named Denis declared, offering a small fortune for the babies. He spun tales of Kyra’s wild youth, of addiction and estrangement, of multiple potential fathers for the triplets. Each word landed like a physical blow.
That night, Jordan studied the boys’ sleeping faces with new eyes. Did it matter whose DNA they carried? He was the one who’d walked floors with them during colic, memorized their different cries, kissed their scraped knees. Biology couldn’t undo those bonds.
When Denis returned with test results proving Jordan wasn’t their biological father, something unexpected happened. The older man broke down, confessing his failures with Kyra and begging for a chance to do better with her children. Slowly, cautiously, Jordan found room in their lives for this broken man who loved the boys in his own imperfect way.
