Page 76 of The Billionaire's Most Unexpected Triplets

The idea of having a father who loved me and cared for me. The idea of having a role model to look up to and aspire to be like.

But my father was never that. He was distant, cold, and emotionally abusive. And I swore to myself that I would never be like him.

But now, sitting here alone on a park bench, tipsy on stupidly expensive vodka, I realize that my deepest fear has come true. I am my father.

A workaholic who has no time for anyone else. Including his own children.

The realization threatens to break me in two. This whole year, I’ve thought I was doing the right thing by distancing myself from Leah and the triplets. I was so sure the kids would be better off without me.

But who am I kidding? I didn’t distance myself for them. I did it for me.

Because I’ve been fucking afraid. Afraid that I won’t be the father they need or the man that Leah needs.

I’ve been a coward, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

But what can I do about it? I made this bed, and now I have to lay in it. Leah wants nothing to do with me, and I don’t blame her. Standing, I slowly walk forward. I should get out of here. Should go home and get some sleep.

But I don’t even want to do that. My house is marvelous, with every comfort a person could ever ask for. The problem is, it’s not a home. It never has been.

I’ve spent my life chasing money and success, thinking that was all that mattered. Now, finally, I see that money can’t buy true happiness. It can’t buy fulfillment or love. Or a family that really cares for you.

Unfortunately, I’m seeing this too late. The greatest woman to ever walk the planet was briefly in my hands — but now she’s slipped through my fingers, and I get to live with my mistake for the rest of my life.

CHAPTER27

LEAH

Sitting on the floor of the nursery, I tuck a freshly washed stack of swaddling blankets into the wardrobe’s bottom drawer, then look around the room.

There’s not really anything else to do. With all these weeks of maternity leave, I’ve mostly been working on the house and getting everything in place for the triplets.

Their nursery is ready to go. Three car seats sit in the back of my new luxury SUV — a much bigger car than I ever saw myself having, but I’m gonna need it. I have a postpartum doula booked to help me the day I bring the babies home, and a nanny is slated to start a few weeks later.

Thanks to all the money I have from GourmetGlobal’s success and the child support, I’ve been able to buy the support I need. I’m better off than most people.

But I don’t feel satisfied. I have Taylor, and my grandparents are coming to visit next week, but something is lacking.

I know what it is, of course, but there’s no point in dwelling on it.

Grabbing hold of the side of the crib, I haul myself to standing. I’ve been looking like a whale the last few weeks, and to say I’m ready for these babies to arrive would be an understatement. Being pregnant with triplets is an Olympic-worthy feat. Not only can I not wait to give birth and be done with pregnancy, but I also can’t wait to meet my children.

Once they’re here, I know my life will change forever. Everything will become about taking care of them, and I’m ready for it. I’m so ready to be a mother, so ready to throw myself completely into that role for the next eighteen or so years.

And God knows I could use the distraction. Even though I haven’t seen Jack since he shut the door in my face, he’s been on my mind every day. I try not to think about him too much, but it’s difficult when there are reminders of him everywhere I look. I know I should move on, but it’s easier said than done.

In the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of tea and take a seat at the island. Even this room is ready to go, with sanitized bottles and bouncers in the corner.

Grabbing my tablet, I open it up and place a video call to my grandparents. As their faces appear on the screen, I can’t help but smile.

“Hi, Leah, how are you feeling?” my grandmother asks, concern etched on her face.

“I’m feeling good, Grandma. A little tired and ready for the babies to arrive, but otherwise, I’m good.” I take a sip of tea.

“That’s great, dear. We can’t wait to meet the little ones. Your grandfather has been practicing his baby-holding skills,” she says, and Grandpa chuckles in the background.

I grin. “I’m sure he’ll be a pro by the time he gets here.”

One of the babies kicks, and my belly tightens on the top. It’s a familiar sensation, as I’ve been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for the last week or so.

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