Page 72 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
I wanted to be their father. I wanted to wake up every morning knowing they were safe and loved. I wanted to teach them to drive and help them with homework and walk them down the aisle someday.
I’d built my escape down to the hour—paperwork finalized, bank accounts arranged, a clean break from the weight of boardrooms and betrayals. But sitting here now with Ivy's fingers threaded through mine, and feeling the soft imprint ofher nails still on my skin, I realized it hadn’t been freedom I was chasing. It was safety. Anonymity. A life where no one could choose someone else over me again.
But this life—this mess, this chaos, these children and the woman I should’ve fought harder to keep—this was never an obligation. It was a second chance. And with her in my arms and those kids calling me Mr. Duncan, melting my heart, I didn’t want to disappear. I wanted to stay and earn the place they were already giving me.
29
IVY
Mom waved from the doorway, her hospital gown too big for her frame as they wheeled her back for the test. She'd lost weight since the treatments started, and the loose fabric made her look fragile. "Wish me luck," she called.
"You don't need luck," I called back. "You've got this." My heart went with her, but I stayed planted on a bench next to my father, who'd been edgy and stern all morning.
The doors closed behind her, and the waiting began again. Dad put his phone away and leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. I could feel him preparing to speak, gathering his thoughts the way he did before important business meetings.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he began. "About being scared."
I stopped picking at my sweater. "Dad?—"
"Let me finish." His voice was calm, controlled. "I understand why you ran. I don't agree with it, but I understand it."
"I was barely twenty years old when I left. I thought I knew everything." I remember standing on that train platform with aduffel bag slung over my shoulder and too much pride in my chest, convinced I was headed toward freedom, not fallout.
"You were my daughter. My responsibility."
"I was an adult."
"Barely." He rubbed his temples, and for the first time in weeks, he looked tired. "I failed you. I should have seen what was happening. Should have protected you better."
"I didn't need protecting. I needed understanding." I crossed my arms over my chest, the fabric of my sweater bunching as I tried to hold myself together, grounding my voice before it cracked.
"Duncan was thirty-nine, Ivy. He had a decade of experience you didn't have. He knew better."
Heat rose in my chest. "I made the first move. I came on to him." I turned my head slowly, meeting his eyes with a tight jaw and a narrowed stare.
Dad’s fingers twitched on the armrest before curling into a fist, his jaw working through the urge to interrupt. "That doesn't make it right."
"It doesn't make it wrong either."
Dad's jaw tightened. "You had barely started college. You had your whole life ahead of you."
"I still do."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've spent the last four years hiding from the consequences of one night."
"I was trying to protect everyone."
Dad let out a short breath, shifting in his seat, his knee bouncing once before he stilled it with his hand. The restraint looked practiced, like he'd been holding back for years and didn’t know how to let go now. "From what?"
"From this." I gestured between us. "From the fighting and the judgment and the way you're looking at me right now."
Dad stood too, his height imposing even in the cramped waiting room. "How am I looking at you?"
"Like I'm a stranger. Like I'm someone you don't recognize."
"Maybe I don't." His voice was quiet, but the words hit deep. "The daughter I raised would have trusted me with the truth. She would have come to me for help."
"The daughter you raised was terrified of disappointing you."
