Then I stepped down.
Cold hit my face.
Snow crunched beneath my boots.
Ethan started walking toward me.
He smiled.
Polite.
Controlled.
Exactly as I expected.
Then Lucas climbed down.
The smile vanished.
Henry followed.
Ethan stopped walking.
Jack jumped down next.
Natalie turned toward Ethan.
Then Sam.
Four boys.
Eight years old.
All looking directly at him.
The entire field seemed to go silent despite the helicopter blades.
Ethan stared.
Lucas stood at my right.
Henry at my left.
Jack and Sam beside them.
Ethan’s face emptied.
He looked at Lucas.
Then Henry.
Then Jack.
Then Sam.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Margaret came down the terrace steps.
“What is…”
She stopped.
William walked beside her.
He saw the boys.
His face went white.
Natalie looked confused.
Then worried.
Ethan finally whispered.
“Grace.”
I met his eyes.
“Merry Christmas.”
He stared at the boys again.
“No.”
I felt something cold move through me.
Not anger.
Recognition.
The same word.
Eight years later.
Still no.
Lucas heard.
He stepped closer to me.
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
I said.
“They’re eight.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
I continued.
“Born July seventeenth.”
His breathing changed.
“Quadruplets?”
“Yes.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
William whispered.
“Dear God.”
Natalie looked at Ethan.
“You knew she was pregnant?”
Ethan did not answer.
I said.
“I told him.”
Natalie stared.
He finally spoke.
“She said she was.”
My jaw tightened.
