A millionaire had never had children, but quadruplets showed up with a letter saying he was their father, and everything changed. The doorbell echoed through the corridors of the mansion, a rare and intrusive sound. Ryan Walker glanced at the clock. 12:47 p.m. on a typical Thursday. No one 

rang his doorbell without a prior appointment. No one. System compromised, he murmured to himself, frowning. It was the expression he used whenever something escaped his meticulous control. Ryan was at home only to pick up some forgotten documents, an unusual slip in his otherwise flawless routine. He considered ignoring the bell, but it rang again, this time in a series of short, insistent presses, as though tiny fingers were playing with the button. Irritated, he walked over to the security system on the wall.

 The external cameras showed four small figures standing at the front door. Girls, children, the last type of visitor he would ever expect. Maybe girl scouts selling cookies. Ryan hated the idea of sweets being brought into his immaculate house. Even so, he walked through the wide marble floored corridor, his footsteps echoing in the usual silence. The sound of the doornob turning was like a gunshot in the quiet.

Four pairs of eyes stared at him when the door opened fully. Hi,” said the tallest one, a brown-haired girl with determined eyes. “Are you Ryan Walker?” Ryan frowned. “Yes, that’s me.” A smile lit up the girl’s face. “I knew it. You look exactly like your picture. She glanced at the others, who nodded eagerly.

 The smallest one, who looked only a few years old, hid partially behind the one who seemed to be the second oldest. “Are you selling something?” Ryan asked, trying to understand why children were standing at the entrance of his isolated home at the end of the most exclusive street in the neighborhood.

 The oldest girl laughed, a bright, clear sound that seemed out of place in that a steer setting. “We’re not selling anything. We came to meet you. Meet me? I don’t understand.” “Who are you?” Ryan asked, staying in the doorway like a barrier between his orderly world and these little intruders. The girl opened a lilac backpack and pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope.

 Mom told us to deliver this. She said, “You’d be surprised, but you needed to read it.” Ryan hesitated for a moment before taking the envelope. His name was written on the front in handwriting that stirred a nagging sense of familiarity. He looked again at the girls, noticing details he hadn’t before.

 The way the oldest one tilted her head slightly, the shape of the second one’s eyes, something disturbingly familiar. He opened the envelope right there, an uneasy feeling growing inside him. The letter was brief. Ryan, I believe you never expected to receive this letter or meet these girls. But it doesn’t change the fact. They are your daughters, mine and yours. I know you’ll question it, doubt it, maybe even deny it.

 But look at them. Really look. You’ll see the truth. I’m sick. I can’t take care of them alone anymore. They need to meet their father. I know you never wanted children. I know this news upends everything you planned for your life, but these girls exist, Ryan. They’re real. They’re part of you, even if you never knew. Please talk to me. I’m at Memorial Hospital, room 415.

Emily Carter. The name hit him like a blow. Emily. How long had it been since he’d thought about her? 7 years. Eight. They’d met at a business conference in Chicago. A brief romance that lasted a few weeks in tense, then over when they returned to their separate lives in different cities. There was no drama or broken promises.

 Just two people going their own ways. Or so he had believed. Ryan looked at the girls again, this time really looking, and he saw the oldest girl’s eyes, shaped exactly like his, the stubborn chin of the second, the small, straight nose of the third, just like his late mother’s, and the smallest one, the way she tilted her head while she observed him.

 Ryan did the exact same thing when he was deep in thought. His legs felt weak. He had to steady himself against the doorframe. “Are you okay?” asked the oldest girl, her voice surprisingly mature. Mom said you’d be surprised. She told us to wait until you calm down. Ryan looked toward the entrance of the property.

 There was a car parked there, a woman at the wheel, watching closely. “Who’s with you?” he managed to ask. “Aunt Julie, she’s mom’s friend,” the girl replied. “She brought us here.” Ryan took a deep breath, trying to regain control. Come in, he finally said, opening the door wider. All of you. The girls exchanged glances, surprised but clearly pleased.

 They entered timidly, looking in awe at the foyer with its high ceiling and imposing staircase. Wow, it’s like a castle, exclaimed the third girl, spinning around to take in everything. Ryan closed the door and gestured toward the woman in the car, signaling her to wait. Then he turned back to the girls. What are your names?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

 The oldest smiled. I’m Sophie. I’m almost 10. This is Olivia. She pointed to the next tallest. She’s eight. That’s Lucy, six. And the little one is Emma, four. Four daughters, ages four, six, eight, and almost 10. All conceived after he and Emily parted ways. Ryan’s usually wellorganized mind struggled to find some logic in this situation.

 Come to the living room,” he said, guiding them through the foyer. The girls followed, marveling at the meticulously decorated mansion in shades of gray, white, and navy blue. The living room was spacious with floor to-seeiling windows overlooking a perfectly manicured garden.

 There were no toys, no family photos, no signs of any life beyond work, just elegant furniture, abstract art, and a bookshelf filled with business and finance volumes. Please sit,” Ryan said, indicating the leather sofa. The girls obeyed, sitting in a row from oldest to youngest. Emma, the smallest, still seemed apprehensive, holding a worn out stuffed bear she had pulled from her backpack.

 Ryan remained standing, unable to join them. He felt like a stranger in his own home. “You know your mom’s friend out there?” he finally asked. “Aunt Julie?” Sophie nodded. Yes, she’s been taking care of us while mom is in the hospital. And your mom is very sick. The question slipped out before he could stop it. The girls exchanged looks.

 It was Olivia who answered. She goes to the hospital a lot. Sometimes she stays there for days. She gets tired and can’t eat much. Ryan folded his arms defensively. And why did she never tell me about you before? Sophie sighed, looking briefly older than her years.

 She said she would tell you when she was ready, that you didn’t want kids, and she respected that, but now she can’t wait any longer. Lucy leaned forward. You don’t like children? The direct question caught him off guard. Ryan had never thought much about it. It wasn’t that he disliked children. He simply never included them in his plans. It’s not that, he replied carefully. I just have a very busy life.

Doing what? Lucy asked curious. I manage investments. I help people and companies with their money. Like a bank, Olivia asked. Something like that, Ryan responded, feeling strangely uncomfortable explaining his work, something he usually did with total confidence. An awkward silence fell over the room. Ryan studied the girls, his daughters according to Emily, and felt a mix of emotions he couldn’t name.

 anger at having been kept in the dark so long. Confusion about what to do now and something else and something unsettling that vaguely resembled. Curiosity. “Your mom’s friend is probably waiting,” he said at last. “Aunt Julie said she could wait,” Sophie replied promptly. “She knew you’d want to talk.” Ryan shook his head, taken aback by the girl’s confidence.

 “I need to speak with her, and then I need to visit your mother.” Sophie exchanged a look with her sisters and nodded. We can wait here. I promise we won’t mess anything up. Ryan hesitated. The thought of leaving four children alone in his immaculate living room made him nervous.

 But the alternative, sending them away without fully understanding what was happening, seemed worse. “So, you can wait here,” he decided. “I’ll talk to Aunt Julie. After that, we’ll see.” “Will you take us to see mom?” Lucy asked hopefully. Ryan looked at her, her big expectant eyes. I don’t know yet, he answered honestly. I need to understand the situation first.

 He left the living room and walked to the front door, feeling strangely reluctant to let the girls out of his sight, as if they might vanish or worse, cause chaos in his absence. The woman stepped out of the car as soon as she saw him approach. She was tall with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a serious expression. “Mr. Walker,” she asked, extending her hand.

 “I’m Julie Andrews, Emily’s friend. I imagine you’ve received some surprising news.” Ryan shook her hand automatically. “That’s an understatement. Emily’s letter says those girls are my daughters.” Julie nodded. “They are. Emily never lied to them about that. Then why lie to me? Why hide this for? He did a quick calculation.

 10 years, Julie sighed. It’s not my story to tell, Mr. Walker. Emily has her reasons. She always intended to tell you eventually, but but now she’s sick, Ryan finished. Yes. Julie’s expression turned somber. It’s complicated. She’ll want to explain in person. Ryan ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of agitation.

 It doesn’t make sense. How could she hide four daughters? How could I not know? Emily is a very independent woman, Julie replied. And you two weren’t in contact, from what I understand. Ryan glanced back at the house, picturing the four girls sitting on his sofa.

 They really do look there’s a resemblance, he admitted reluctantly. They are your daughters, Julie repeated firmly. And now they need you. Her words hovered in the air between them. They need you. No one needed Ryan Walker except his clients and employees. His life was meticulously constructed to avoid this kind of emotional dependency. I need to talk to Emily, he decided.

 She’s expecting you, Julie agreed. But what about the girls? Ryan looked again at the house. They’ll stay, he said, surprising even himself with how firm he sounded. I’m not letting them go until I fully understand this situation. Julie seemed to hesitate. They’re children, Mr. Walker.

 Not puzzle pieces you need to figure out before deciding if you want them in your life. Her words hit him hard. I’m not treating them like objects, he protested. But you have to understand my position. In one day, I find out I apparently have four daughters. Daughters Emily chose to hide from me for a decade. I need answers before I decide anything. Julie studied his face for a moment.

 Are you going to the hospital to see Emily? Yes, and the girls. Ryan hesitated for just an instant. They’ll stay here. My housekeeper is home. She can keep an eye on them while I’m gone. Julie raised an eyebrow. Of course, you have a housekeeper. There was a slight hint of irony in her voice. All right, I’ll grab their backpacks from the trunk.

 They have some clothes, toys, and Lucy’s allergy medication. Medication? Ryan asked, feeling a stab of alarm. Just a pollen allergy. Nothing serious. One spoonful at night. It’s all labeled. Julie paused again. Look, I know this is a huge shock for you, but please remember that for them, meeting their father is something they’ve been waiting for their whole lives. Be kind. Ryan nodded stiffly.

 Kindness wasn’t his strong suit, but he could try. Either way, he didn’t plan on interacting much with them until he spoke to Emily and understood what on earth was going on. Julie retrieved four colorful backpacks from the trunk. I’m going inside to say goodbye to them. They walked into the house together.

 In the living room, they found the four girls exactly where Ryan had left them, sitting in a row on the sofa. They had kept their promise not to touch anything, though their curious gazes took in every detail of the room. Aunt Julie, Lucy exclaimed when she saw them. This house is huge. It has a pool. Julie smiled.

 Yes, I saw it from the driveway. She set the backpacks on the floor. Girls, you’re going to stay here for a bit with Mr. Walker while he goes to talk to your mom at the hospital. He’s our dad, Olivia corrected. Mom said we can call him dad. Ryan felt something strange in his chest when he heard that word. Dad, a title he had never expected to hold.

 “I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice more rigid than he intended. “My housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, will be here shortly to look after you. Please behave.” “We always behave,” Sophie replied with a grin. “Mom said you’d change when you met us. That you wouldn’t be so controlled,” Olivia finished. Ryan blinked in surprise. Your mom said that? Yes, Sophie confirmed.

She said, “You’re very organized and you don’t like it when things don’t go according to plan. But we were going to change you because kids always change people.” Ryan felt a shiver run down his spine. Change him. His entire life was built around order, control, predictability.

 There was no room for changes, especially changes of this magnitude. Yet as he looked at those four girls, his daughters, something inside him quivered. A strange one unfamiliar discomfort that wasn’t exactly unpleasant, just different, like a long closed door had been cracked open, letting in a sliver of light. I’ll be back in a few hours, he finally said, turning to leave. Dad. The word stopped him at the door.

 It was Emma, the smallest, speaking for the first time. Her voice was small but clear. Are you going to bring mom? Ryan looked at her, her eyes so much like his filled with childlike hope. I don’t know, Emma, he answered honestly. I’ll talk to her first. As he drove to the hospital, Ryan’s mind swirled with unanswered questions.

 Emily, four daughters, 10 years of secrecy, an entire life that had existed parallel to his, without his knowledge. And amid the confusion, he felt that strange discomfort growing inside him. A mixture of doubt about everything he thought he knew, and memories of Emily he thought he’d buried long ago.

 Memories that returned with full force along with something new and unsettling. The image of four pairs of eyes, so much like his, watching him with hope and curiosity. The emotional order Ryan had cultivated throughout his adult life was irreparably shattered. And the strangest thing was that a small part of him, a part he barely recognized, wasn’t entirely unhappy about it. Memorial Hospital was an imposing structure of concrete and glass.

 Ryan parked in the visitors area and sat there for a few minutes, hands gripping the steering wheel. He had left the girls at home with Mrs. Davis, who seemed as surprised as he was by the situation, but adapted quickly. “I’ll prepare snacks for them,” she’d said with an efficiency Ryan appreciated.

 Now he faced the hospital where Emily and the answers awaited him. Ryan straightened his tie and walked through the automatic doors. The characteristic hospital smell hit him immediately, reminding him of the last time he’d been in such a place when his parents passed away. It was not a memory he liked to dwell on.

 “Room 4:15, please?” he asked at reception, sounding more confident than he felt. “Room 415, Emily Carter,” confirmed the receptionist. Are you family? The question caught him off guard. What was he to Emily exactly? I’m father of her children, he replied, the words sounding strange on his tongue. The receptionist nodded.

 Fourth floor down the hall to the right. In the elevator, Ryan rehearsed mentally what he would say. He would demand explanations, ask why she had hidden the girls for so long, possibly request paternity tests. His rational, analytical side tried to transform the shock into something manageable, something he could control.

 But when the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, another thought invaded his mind. How was Emily? The woman he had known was vibrant, full of life. Now she was sick, as the letter indicated. What did that mean? The hallway seemed endless. Ryan counted the door numbers. 49411413415.

 He stopped at the slightly agar door, took a deep breath, and knocked softly. “Come in,” responded a voice Ryan would recognize anywhere, even after all these years. Emily was sitting in the bed, propped up by pillows. An open book lay on her lap. Her brown hair, which Ryan remembered as long and wavy, was shorter now, framing a thinner face than in his memories.

 She was still beautiful, but there was a new fragility. Dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, a tiredness that no bright expression could entirely mask. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him. “You came,” she said simply. “Ryan closed the door behind him, unable to look away. You didn’t give me much choice, sending four kids to my doorstep.

 A small smile appeared on her lips. always straight to the point. Some things never change. Plenty of things seem to have changed, he retorted, gesturing toward the hospital room and then vaguely in the direction he imagined his house would be. Four daughters, Emily. Four. Emily closed the book and placed it on the side table. Sit down, Ryan, please. There was a single chair near the window.

 Ryan hesitated before dragging it closer to the bed. The familiarity with which he spoke his name disarmed him, reminding him of those brief days in Chicago. Late night conversations, laughter, the feeling of a connection he had rarely experienced.

 “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he finally asked, his voice softer, less accusatory than he had intended. “Eily turned her gaze to the window for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.” “It wasn’t an easy decision, Ryan. 6 years, Emily. 6 years. I found out I was pregnant 3 weeks after we said goodbye in Chicago. She began. I tried calling you, you know, twice. The first time that you were in a very important meeting.

 The second time on a business trip. Ryan tried to recall those calls but couldn’t. They were just two among hundreds of missed calls over the years, routine for his busy life. You could have insisted, he argued. Emily gave a sad smile. I could have, but the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. You lived for your career, Ryan. That’s what made you happy.

 What gave your life meaning? I saw that in those weeks in Chicago, she paused. I knew I couldn’t handle a pregnancy, let alone four children in your world. Four children, Ryan repeated, still stunned. How? Two sets of fraternal twins, Emily explained. Sophie and Olivia were born first. Then when they were almost two, I got pregnant again. Unplanned but welcomed. And once again, they were twins, Lucy and Emma.

 Her eyes softened at the mention of their names. It runs in my family. Apparently, my grandmother also had twins. Ryan tried to process the information. But why now, Emily? Why, after all this time? Her gaze hardened slightly. You met them, didn’t you? the girls?” Ryan nodded. “What did you think of them?” Emily asked. The question caught him off guard. “What did he think? They were obviously bright.

Sophie had a maturity beyond her age. Olivia had an intensity in her gaze that reminded him of himself. Lucy was overflowing with contagious curiosity. Emma was so tiny but observant. They’re extraordinary kids,” he finally admitted. A genuine smile lit up Emily’s face.

 Aren’t they the best parts of both of us? Believe it or not, there was a moment of silence. Not entirely uncomfortable. Ryan glanced at the medical equipment beside her bed, the medication bags hanging there. How sick are you? Emily’s smile faded. Sick enough to know I can’t continue alone. She shifted on the pillows, a flicker of pain crossing her face. The girls need you now, Ryan.

 You never gave me the chance to be a father, he said, an unexpected ache coloring his voice. That’s true, Emily admitted. And for a long time, I believed I’d made the right choice. You never wanted children, Ryan. You told me that in Chicago, remember? Children aren’t part of my life plan. Those were your exact words. Ryan vaguely remembered that conversation. One night, the two of them lying side by side talking about hypothetical futures.

For him, it had just been casual talk. For her, apparently, it was much more. People change, he argued, though he wasn’t certain he would have changed without this abrupt intervention in his life. Yes, they do, Emily agreed. I changed when I learned I was pregnant. When I held our daughters for the first time, she paused, studying him.

 What about you? Are you changing now? Ryan didn’t answer immediately, was he? Something inside him was definitely different. A restlessness, an awakening of feelings he didn’t recognize. Why didn’t you come to me when you got sick? He asked, avoiding her question. Emily sighed. I thought about it. But I didn’t want you to meet them out of pity or obligation. Her eyes met his defiant.

 I don’t want you to accept them into your life because you feel you have to. I want you to accept them because you want to be part of their lives. What if I don’t want to? The question escaped before he could stop it, though part of him already knew the answer. Then you tell us, and we’ll find another solution, Emily said calmly, though her eyes betrayed her apprehension.

 But first, truly get to know them. Give them and yourself that chance. Ryan stood and walked to the window. Outside, life went on as usual. People coming and going, unaware of the earthquake happening in this room. “What exactly is your condition?” he asked. “Something that’s weakening me,” she answered vaguely. “The doctors are doing their best.

” Ryan realized she was avoiding details, but decided not to press further. There were more urgent questions. “What do you want from me, Emily? I want you to get to know them. Give them what I can no longer provide on my own. Stability, security, a home. She hesitated. That you might love them at eventually. The word love hung in the air between them. Ryan didn’t use that word lightly.

 In fact, he might never have used it in a genuinely emotional context. They don’t know how sick you really are, do they? He asked, realizing the truth. Emily shook her head. They know I’m ill, that I need treatment. They don’t know. She paused, swallowing hard. They don’t know everything. At that moment, Ryan understood what she wasn’t saying.

 The situation was more serious than Emily would admit. Much more serious. He returned to the chair and without thinking took her hand. It was smaller than he remembered and colder. “Why send them to my house today?” he asked softly. “Because time is running out,” she replied, giving his hand a slight squeeze.

 and they deserve to know their father. You deserve to know your daughters.” Ryan felt something break inside him, a barrier, a wall he had maintained for so long. The idea of being responsible for four young lives terrified him. The possibility of failing them as he had failed so many personal relationships over the years was paralyzing.

 But looking at Emily, seeing the disguised fear in her eyes, a new feeling emerged. something protective and unexpected. “I’ll get to know them,” he promised. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at it, but I’ll try.” A relieved smile spread across her face. “That’s all I ask.” When he left the hospital an hour later, Ryan felt different.

 It was as if the man who had entered that room, methodical, controlled, emotionally isolated, had been replaced by someone he barely recognized. Someone who was afraid, yes, but also filled with a new determination. Deep down, he knew he was irreversibly committed now to four girls who carried his blood, to a woman who had kept a secret for 6 years, and to a version of himself he had never imagined possible. And that scared him more than any corporate challenge he had ever faced.

 Ryan returned from the hospital with his mind in turmoil. Parking in front of the mansion, he noticed something different. Lights were on in rooms that normally remained in semi darkness. There was movement behind the curtains, and as he got out of the car, an entirely unfamiliar sound in that environment reached his ears. Children’s laughter.

 He paused at the entrance, took a deep breath, and turned the door knob. The impact was immediate. His house, his sanctuary of order and silence, was unrecognizable. In the foyer, four pairs of colorful shoes were scattered around. In the living room, cushions were out of place, and what looked like a makeshift fort made of blankets had been erected.

 Dad, you’re back. Sophie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, sporting a chocolate smudge on her cheek. We made cookies with Mrs. Davis. She said, “You like dark chocolate, Dad?” Lucy came running, almost slipping on the marble floor. Did you see mom? Is she better? Is she coming here? Before Ryan could answer, Olivia and Emma also appeared. Emma still clutched her stuffed bear, watching him with curious eyes.

 Olivia studied him intently, as if evaluating his every reaction. Your mom is stable, he said carefully. “We talked a lot. She’ll be in the hospital for a few more days. But then she’ll come here, right?” Lucy insisted. Ryan hesitated. “We’ll see. For now, you’ll stay here.” Mrs. Davis, and who was watching from the kitchen entrance, dried her hands on an apron.

 “The girls have already had dinner, Mr. Walker. I’ll prepare yours now.” “Thank you, Mrs. Davis, and thank you for looking after them.” She nodded. “They’re delightful children. I explained the house rules.” Ryan glanced at Sophie, who smiled timidly. Mrs. Davis said we can’t jump on the sofas or run in the house or touch anything in your office and that you don’t like noise during meals.

 That’s right, Ryan confirmed, grateful that the housekeeper had established some order. But she didn’t say anything about singing in the bath, Lucy added mischievously. So, I think we can do that. Ryan opened his mouth to argue, but realized he had no specific rule against singing in the bath simply because he’d never needed one. Let’s sort out your bedrooms, he said, trying to regain control of the situation.

 The house has several guest rooms. You can choose. Can we stay together? Olivia asked. We’ve always slept in the same room, Ryan frowned. The house has enough space for each of you to have your own room. But we don’t like sleeping apart, Sophie explained. It’s scary. Okay, Ryan conceded after a look from Mrs. Davis. You can stay in the big room on the second floor, the one with the balcony.

 The girls exchanged excited glances. It has a balcony, Lucy exclaimed. Can we have breakfast out there? Well see, Ryan replied automatically, a phrase he never used in his organized life, where everything was either yes or no, black or white, never maybe. After dinner, a surreal experience, with four pairs of eyes watching him while he tried to maintain his methodical eating habits, Ryan took the girls upstairs. Mrs.

 Davis had prepared the bedroom, adding extra towels to the adjoining bathroom and arranging the beds. “Bath time?” he announced, checking his watch. “Who goes first?” Sophie asked, naturally stepping into the leadership role. “Can’t you all go together?” Ryan asked, only realizing too late how impractical that idea was. Lucy giggled. Is the bathtub that big? We have a rotation, Olivia explained.

Sophie and I bathe first, then Lucy and Emma. It’s faster. Are you going to bathe us? Emma asked quietly, her large eyes fixed on him. The question caught Ryan completely offg guard. You don’t have to, Sophie interjected quickly, sensing his discomfort. We know how to bathe ourselves. Emma only needs help sometimes, but I can help her.

 Thanks, Ryan said relieved. I’ll be in my office if you need anything. While the girls got ready for their baths, Ryan retreated to his office. He needed to think, plan, reorganize the life that had just been turned upside down. He closed the door, relishing the moment of silence like an old friend. It didn’t last long. The silence was soon broken by giggles.

 Then a children’s song in unison echoing through the hallway. Ryan tried to focus on his emails to ignore the sounds, but it was impossible. The house, once a sanctuary of quiet, now pulsed with life. Half an hour later, a light knock on the door. Dad? It was Sophie already in pajamas, her hair still damp. Lucy wants to ask you something, but she’s too shy. Ryan checked the time.

 He’d only answered three emails, whereas normally he’d have handled 20 by now. “What is it?” Lucy appeared next to her sister, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Can I put glitter in the bathtub? I brought it in my backpack.” “Glitter,” Ryan repeated horrified. “In the bathtub? It makes colorful bubbles?” Lucy explained enthusiastically. “Aunt Julie lets us do it when we’re sad.

” “No,” Ryan answered automatically. Glitter will clog the drain and it’ll get the whole bathroom dirty. Lucy’s smile vanished instantly. Her eyes, so much like Emily’s, filled with disappointment. Okay, she mumbled. Mom didn’t let us do it very often either. Only on special days.

 Something about the resigned tone in her voice touched a part of Ryan he didn’t know existed. Maybe, he began, hardly believing what he was about to say. Maybe we can find something else fun for the bath. Something less sparkly. Lucy’s face lit up again. Like what? Mrs. Davis can buy some of those colorful things that make bubbles tomorrow. Bath salts? Sophie suggested.

 Yes, Ryan confirmed, though he had no real idea what bath salts were, just that they were likely less disastrous than glitter. Thanks, Dad. Lucy beamed at this small concession. Before Ryan realized what was happening, she dashed forward and gave him a quick hug. You’re the best. The sudden physical contact made him tense up.

 He wasn’t used to hugs, but before he could react, Lucy was already dashing off down the corridor. Sophie smiled apologetically and followed her. Ryan stood there, feeling a strange warmth where the small arms had wrapped around him. The best, he was far from it. But something about Lucy’s transparent happiness over such a simple thing unsettled him.

 The following days followed a similar pattern. Ryan tried to stick to his routine, but every aspect was challenged. The once silent breakfast now included endless questions. Why do you read news instead of stories? Why doesn’t your house have colorful paintings? Why don’t you ever smile in the morning? His immaculate space was transformed hour by hour.

 He found drawings left on his desk, a colorful hair tie on the sofa, a tiny sock under the dining room table. By the third day, he realized he needed professional reinforcements. I hired a nanny, he announced at breakfast. She starts today. Mrs. Davis can’t look after the house and you at the same time. We don’t need a nanny, Olivia protested. Sophie takes care of us.

Sophie is 10, Ryan replied. Children shouldn’t take care of other children. But I’ve always taken care of them, Sophie insisted. When mom’s in the hospital, Ryan raised a hand, cutting her off. That ends now. Your kids, you should play, study, do things kids do, not have adult responsibilities. Mrs. Bennett arrived at 9.

 She was young, energetic, and had an impressive background in early childhood education. Ryan gave her a brief explanation of the situation and she accepted the challenge with enthusiasm. I’m going back to the office today, Ryan informed the girls who eyed the new nanny wearily. Miss Bennett will stay with you. You don’t work from home? Lucy asked disappointed.

 Usually I do, but I have meetings to attend in person. In truth, Ryan was eager to return to the predictable world of his company. When are you coming back? Sophie asked. Late afternoon, he replied vaguely, already checking emails on his phone. Ryan left relieved, driving to the office as if escaping a war zone. The security of the familiar, he found it comforting.

 At work, Helen, his secretary, raised her eyebrows when she saw him. “Mr. Walker, we weren’t expecting you today. I thought you’d be working from home.” “Change of plans,” he said simply. reschedule the meetings I canled yesterday. The day at the office was an oasis of normaly. Meetings followed agendas. Numbers were analyzed.

Decisions were made. Ryan dove into work like a man plunging into a refreshing pool after crossing a desert. Here he was in control. Here he knew exactly what to do. He stayed late, deliberately ignoring the clock. It was already night when he shut down his computer, replying to one last email.

 Helen had already gone home, as had most of the staff. The building was quiet, the kind of silence he used to appreciate at home. Now that silence felt strangely empty. Ryan drove slowly back to the mansion. There was no rush. Miss Bennett had instructions to stay until 9 if necessary. The girls would be well taken care of.

 When he arrived, lights shone from almost every window, creating a welcoming view the house had never had before. He parked and lingered in the car for a moment, watching. From one of the upstairs windows, he saw small silhouettes running around. Entering through the kitchen door to avoid being noticed immediately, he found Mrs. Davis making something that smelled surprisingly good. “Mr. Walker,” she greeted him. “Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes.

Have the girls eaten? Yes, sir. M. Bennett fed them at 6:00 as instructed. They’re playing upstairs now before bedtime. Ryan nodded. How did they behave? Mrs. Davis gave a slight smile. They’re lovely children, Mr. Walker. Very well- behaved given the circumstances. I’ll be in my office until dinner is ready, he informed her, escaping before anyone saw him.

 From the sanctuary of his downstairs office, Ryan could hear the sounds of the house above him. Light footsteps running down the hallway, muffled laughter, children’s music playing somewhere, sounds that had never belonged there, now filling every corner like water finding its level. During his solitary dinner, he heard the nightly routine above.

 Miss Bennett guiding the girls through bath time, then toothbrushing, finally bedtime stories, animated voices begging for just one more page. Soft giggles. When the nanny came downstairs and found him in the living room, Ryan was checking his tablet for emails. “Are they asleep?” he asked without looking up. “Almost,” Ms. Bennett replied.

 “They’re in bed, but asked if you could say good night before they drift off.” Ryan hesitated. He was tired and just wanted to retreat to his own room to process the events of the last few days in peace. “I’m very busy tonight,” he replied. “I’ll talk to them more tomorrow.” Mrs. Bennett nodded, concealing any judgment she might have.

“Of course, Mr. Walker. Should I come at the same time tomorrow?” “Yes, please.” After Miss Bennett left, Ryan went upstairs quietly. He stopped in the hallway near the girl’s slightly agar bedroom door. A soft bedside lamp glowed through the gap, accompanied by whispers and muffled laughter. They were still awake.

 Instead of going in, he stood there watching through the small opening. Sophie was reading a book to the younger ones, using different voices for each character. All four girls were in the same bed despite the four beds available in the large room, huddled together like puppies, seeking comfort in this unfamiliar place. Dad.

 Lucy’s voice surprised him. “Are you there?” Ryan froze for a moment, then gently pushed the door open. “I was just checking on you,” he said, not fully entering the room. “Do you want to play?” Emma asked softly, holding up a small plush toy. “We could play that card game,” Ms. Bennett taught us. “I’m busy right now,” Emma Ryan said, checking his watch. “I have some work to finish.

” The light in the little girl’s eyes dimmed. Okay, she murmured, backing away. I didn’t want to bother you. You’re not bothering me, Ryan said quickly. I just have work to do. Mom used to work a lot, too, Emma replied so quietly he almost missed it, but she always stopped for a bit to play before we slept. The implied comparison hit him like a punch.

 Before he could respond, Sophie intervened. It’s all right, Dad. We know you’re busy. Good night. Good night, Ryan repeated, backing out into the hallway. Returning to his office, he felt unsettled. How easily the girls accepted his brush off as if they were used to being secondary in an adult’s life.

 Emily had always been there for them, even when sick or overworked. And what was he doing? Hiding behind his job as usual. He turned on his computer, determined to finish an important proposal. But his thoughts kept drifting back to the four girls upstairs, to Lucy’s impulsive hug, to Emma’s small voice inviting him to play, to Olivia’s watchful eyes, to Sophie’s responsible demeanor, caring for her sisters.

 They were his daughters, and he barely knew them. 10 minutes later, he closed the laptop without writing a single line. He paused on the stairs, listening. The house was quiet now, the girls probably asleep. A twinge of regret. He felt a strange sensation that he was missing something, letting moments slip by that would never return.

 But he pushed the feeling away, as he did with all inconvenient emotions. Tomorrow he go back to the office again, leave Miss Bennett in charge of the girls, Mrs. Davis in charge of the house, and bury himself in work, where he knew exactly what to do. That was how he’d always handled things. That was how he would continue to handle them. The weekend arrived and with it a break in the office routine Ryan had established.

With no meetings to escape to, no urgent reports to finish, he found himself confined to the mansion with four girls and a growing awareness that he could no longer ignore them. Seated in his office on Saturday morning, Ryan realized the house was oddly quiet, Miss Bennett didn’t work weekends and Mrs.

 Davis had Saturdays off. For the first time, he was alone with his daughters. Driven by reluctant curiosity, he went upstairs and walked down the hallway to their room. The door was slightly a jar, and he peeked inside unannounced. Sophie was on the bed, reading to Emma, who was snuggled against her side, clutching her beloved teddy bear.

 Olivia was drawing intently on a makeshift desk, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth in total concentration. Lucy lay on her stomach on the rug, humming softly as she colored in an activity book. It was a peaceful scene he never expected to see. The girls, usually so energetic, had each found their own quiet way to spend the morning.

 Ryan watched them for a few minutes, noticing details he had overlooked during the week. How Sophie frowned slightly at challenging words, just like he did with complex contracts. How Olivia bit her lower lip while drawing exactly the way Emily did when concentrating. How Lucy kicked her feet in the air while coloring, reminding him of his own mother.

 And how Emma, so small and quiet, traced the words with her finger, her eyes so similar to his shining with intelligence. Dad. Sophie’s voice startled him. She lifted her eyes from the book, spotting him at the door. Do you need something? The other girls turned to look at him, their faces showing various degrees of surprise and expectation.

 “No,” he answered, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Just checking on you.” “We’re hungry,” Lucy announced, jumping to her feet. “Mrs. Davis isn’t here today.” “Oh,” Ryan realized it was almost noon. “They probably hadn’t had breakfast. Do you all want something to eat?” Four faces lit up all at once.

 Are you going to make food for us?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide like he’d suggested something extraordinary. Ryan hesitated. His cooking repertoire was limited to strong coffee and scrambled eggs, but their sudden enthusiasm caught him off guard. “I can try,” he said, oddly willing to make the effort.

 In the kitchen, under the watchful eyes of the four girls perched on stools by the island, Ryan opened the fridge. Mrs. Davis, as always, had left it perfectly organized. “What do you usually have for breakfast?” he asked. “Pancakes,” Lucy exclaimed immediately. “Cereal with milk,” said Sophie, more practical. “Toast with jam,” Olivia suggested.

 Emma just watched quietly, her eyes darting from Ryan to her sisters. “What would you like, Emma?” Ryan asked the youngest directly, surprising himself by noticing her silence. The little girl looked surprised to be asked. “I like bananas,” she answered softly. Ryan nodded as though he’d just received a critical piece of business intelligence.

 “All right, then we’ll have a bit of everything. He had never made pancakes in his life, but how hard could it be? The internet had recipes, and he had an above average IQ.” As he prepared the batter, messing up two attempts first, he noticed the girls watched him with fascination like he was performing magic. “You’ve never cooked before,” Olivia asked as perceptive as ever.

 “Not much,” he admitted. “I can tell,” she remarked not maliciously, just stating a fact. Ryan found himself smiling. “There was something refreshing about Olivia’s direct honesty. When one pancake flopped into a shapeless blob in the pan, Lucy burst into laughter. It looks like a melted cloud.

 Ryan stared at his disastrous creation, prepared to feel frustration. Instead, he found himself laughing along with Lucy. That’s exactly what it looks like. Breakfast, or lunch, given the hour, was a culinary disaster, but somehow a success. The pancakes came out in bizarre shapes. The toast was slightly burnt, and the cereal got soggy because he served it too late.

 But the girls ate heartily, commenting on every item, laughing at the odd shapes, naming the pancakes. “This one looks like an elephant without a trunk,” Lucy declared, holding up a particularly misshapen pancake. “And this one looks like Mr. Phillips, Aunt Julie’s grumpy neighbor,” Olivia added, causing another wave of laughter.

 Ryan observed the scene, feeling something odd and disconcerting in his chest, something he didn’t immediately recognize, but which wasn’t entirely unpleasant. After breakfast, Sophie offered to help clean up. Ryan refused at first, but she insisted. “Mom always says whoever makes the mess needs to help clean it up,” she explained earnestly. “That’s the rule in our house.

” Ryan nodded once again, struck by her maturity. As Lucy and Emma ran outside to play, supervised by Olivia, Sophie stayed beside him, drying the dishes he washed. “You’re really organized,” she remarked after a few minutes of silence. Like, “Mom, but more so.” “Your mom is organized,” Ryan asked, surprised. “The Emily,” he remembered, was spontaneous, almost chaotic in her energy. “Sophie smiled.

She tries. She puts Post-it notes everywhere so she won’t forget. But she always forgets to look at the post-its. Ryan chuckled softly, imagining the scene. It was exactly like Emily. “Do you talk about me a lot?” he asked, trying to sound casual. Sophie paused. “Mom tells stories about you, like the time you both went to that beach in Chicago and you didn’t want to go in the water because it was too cold, but she pulled you in anyway.” The memory hit Ryan like a wave.

 That weekend in Chicago, Lake Michigan on a surprisingly warm spring day, though the water was still icy from the recent winter. Emily laughing, pulling him by the hand, both of them tumbling into the shallow water. The sense of freedom with her, so different from his regulated life. It was a good trip, he murmured, more to himself than to Sophie.

 Mom said it was the best, Sophie responded simply, putting the last dish in the cabinet. Can I go see what my sisters are doing now? Ryan nodded, left alone in the kitchen with his thoughts and a strange sense of loss for the time he hadn’t had with these girls.

 6 years, 6 years of first steps, first words, small moments he would never get back. In the days that followed, he found himself watching the girls more often. He noticed how distinct each one’s personality was, even at such young ages. Sophie, the eldest, responsible and serious, always looking out for her sisters, carrying more than her fair share of responsibility.

 Olivia, observant and analytical, taking in everything around her, always asking challenging questions. Lucy, pure energy and joy, living each moment intensely, finding magic in the ordinary. and Emma, the youngest, quiet and thoughtful, watching the world with eyes that seemed to understand more than she let on. One Tuesday night, he arrived home earlier than usual and found the living room empty.

 A pang of worry struck him until he heard laughter outside. When he looked through the window and saw them playing in the yard, something in him relaxed a not he hadn’t realized was there. On Thursday, stuck in traffic, he found himself worried he’d miss dinner with the girls.

 He, who had always dined alone or in business meetings, was now uneasy about not being at the family table. When he finally arrived and saw four faces light up, he felt a warmth in his chest he couldn’t explain. At the office, he caught himself checking the clock more often. He called Miss Bennett in the middle of the day just to see how the girls were doing.

 In an important meeting, he found himself smiling at the memory of Lucy imitating a dinosaur at breakfast. Helen, his secretary, noted he seemed different, lighter, she said. On a rainy Saturday afternoon, 2 weeks after their arrival, Ryan was in his office when he heard a crash from the living room, followed by muffled giggling. Normally, he would have ignored it, trusting Miss Bennett or Mrs.

 Davis to handle it, but they were both off duty. Entering the living room, he found a scene of organized chaos. The couches had been stripped of their cushions, and several sheets were stretched between the furniture, creating a complex system of tunnels and tents. The girls crawled among the spaces, laughing and whispering. “What’s going on here?” he asked, unable to maintain the stern tone he intended.

Four heads popped out of different openings in the makeshift structure. “We’re building our secret city,” Lucy explained as though it were obvious. “With the bed sheets,” Ryan raised an eyebrow. They’re the only ones big enough, Sophie replied, looking slightly guilty. We’ll put everything back afterward. Promise.

 Ryan should have disapproved. He should have reminded them of the rules about keeping the house tidy. Instead, he surprised everyone, including himself. Looks like you need more materials for construction. 15 minutes later, Ryan was on his knees, helping them attach more sheets with clothes pins to strategically placed chairs.

 His expensive suit was wrinkled. His usually perfect hair was disheveled after crawling through one of the tunnels to free Emma, who was stuck. “Dad, you have to try the magic tea,” Lucy announced, offering him an empty plastic teacup. Ryan accepted the cup with a serious expression.

 “What flavor is this magic tea?” Lucy pondered for a moment. “It’s cloud and glitter flavor.” “Ah, my favorite,” he replied, pretending to take a sip and widening his eyes dramatically. Wow, it really is magical. The girls burst into laughter, delighted that he was playing along. Now you have to do the guardian dragon’s voice, Olivia instructed, pointing to a space under the coffee table. Hi protects the city.

 Guardian dragon, Ryan repeated, unsure what to do. Yes, you roar and then say you’ll only let people in if they know the magic password, Lucy explained patiently. Ryan hesitated for just a second before crouching down and gee, feeling utterly ridiculous, attempting what he hoped was a convincing dragon roar. Roar! Who dares approach the secret city? The girl’s laughter was immediate and genuine.

 Lucy practically rolled on the floor while even the serious Olivia tried to stifle her giggles. “That dragon sounds like it has a cold,” Sophie teased between laughs. It’s a dragon allergic to humans, Ryan improvised, faking an exaggerated sneeze. Au, sorry, that happens when too many humans are around. Olivia, ever practical, jumped into the game unexpectedly.

 We need medicine for the dragon. Quick, doctor, Lucy, prepare the magic syrup. Lucy dashed to her pharmacy under an end table and returned with another empty cup. Here’s the medicine, but he has to make a disgusted face because it tastes awful. Ryan obediently drank the imaginary medicine, making an exaggerated grimace that set off another round of laughter.

 Emma, who had been quietly watching, surprised everyone by crawling over to Ryan and holding out a small imaginary tissue for the dragon. “To wipe your nose,” she explained seriously. For 2 hours, Ryan forgot he was a successful executive. He forgot that he preferred organized, predictable routines.

 He forgot that until 2 weeks ago, he never would have imagined crawling around on the floor pretending to be a dragon with allergies. When Sophie announced that the city needed a bedtime story, Ryan found himself inventing a tale about four princesses who discovered a magical treasure. The girls listened in fascination as he improvised, surprising even himself with his sudden creativity.

Where did you learn to tell stories like that? Sophie asked when he finished. I never learned, Ryan admitted, astonished at himself. I guess I just found out I could. By the time they stopped, exhausted and hungry, the living room was a complete mess.

 Sheets were draped everywhere, cushions scattered, toys and books co-opted by the city spread across the floor. Ryan surveyed the scene, expecting to feel anxiety over the disorder. Instead, he felt a strange satisfaction. It was the chaos of life happening, not a failure in organization. “How about pizza for dinner?” he suggested to unanimous cheers. As they ate pizza on the living room floor, something unthinkable two weeks ago. Ryan watched the girls.

 They were relaxed, happy, all talking at once about their roles in the secret city. He normally so quiet, inched closer to him and placed her small hand over his. You’re the best dad in the world,” she declared seriously, then added, “Even if you’re clumsy.” Ryan felt something warm and unfamiliar spread through his chest.

The simple sincerity in her words hit him with surprising force. Later that night, after finally tidying up the living room with the enthusiastic, if not highly efficient, help of the girls, and putting them to bed, Ryan paused in the hallway, gazing at a photo of his parents that hung on the wall.

 His own father, always formal and distant, had never allowed himself the mess of fatherhood. He had always been impeccable, always in control, never a dragon with allergies and must hair. Looking back at the bedroom where his daughters now slept, Ryan realized he was discovering something his own father might never have known.

 The joy of imperfection, the pleasure of doing something badly, botching pancakes, telling off-the- cuff stories, roaring like a sick dragon, and still seeing his daughter’s eyes shine as though he were perfect in his imperfection. His affection for those four girls had slipped into his life like water-seeking cracks in a wall he’d believed impenetrable.

 Without permission or announcement, it had simply settled in until suddenly it was there, undeniable, irrefutable, and surprisingly welcome. The two weeks he’d spent with the girls had changed something in Ryan. It was a subtle change, like tectonic plates shifting imperceptibly beneath the surface. You don’t see it happening, but then you notice the landscape has changed. He still wore immaculate suits.

His schedule was still precise. But there was a new sparkle in his eyes, an occasional softness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Can we visit mom today?” Sophie asked during Sunday breakfast. “It’s been a long time,” Ryan hesitated. He hadn’t returned to the hospital since that first conversation with Emily.

 He called regularly to check on her condition, but kept physical distance as though he needed space to process everything happening. Aunt Julie said she misses us, Olivia added, watching him with those keen eyes that seem to see right through him. Please, Dad, Lucy insisted, stretching the word please as though it had 10 syllables.

Emma said nothing, just looked at him with those eyes so much like his, full of silent hope. Ryan glanced at his watch, though he knew he had no plans for Sunday. All right, we can go after lunch. The chorus of yay that followed was reward enough. Ryan realized he no longer saw adjusting his schedule for the girls as a nuisance.

 It was an adjustment, sure, but not the burden he’d imagined. As he drove to the hospital that afternoon, all four girls in the backseat of the SUV, purchased specifically so he could transport them safely, he felt a tightness in his stomach that had nothing to do with Sunday traffic. Emily. Since that first visit, when she gently explained why she’d never told him about their daughters, Ryan had been rethinking everything he thought he knew about relationships and responsibility. Now returning to the hospital with the

daughters he now called his he felt strangely vulnerable, like he was about to give a report on a probationary period he hadn’t known he was serving. “Mom’s going to be so happy to see you, too,” Sophie said as though reading his thoughts. She always asks about you when Aunt Julie calls.

 Ryan glanced in the rear view mirror, surprised. She asks about me, Sophie nodded. She wants to know if you’re taking care of us if we’re happy. And what do you tell her? He asked, trying to sound casual. That you’re a good dad, Lucy answered promptly. You just can’t do braids very well. Ryan grinned, recalling his disastrous attempt to braid Lucy’s hair for a birthday party at a friend’s house.

 The result was so chaotic that Ms. Bennett had to fix it minutes before they left. And that you let us build secret cities, Olivia added. And you don’t get mad when Lucy spills milk. And you chase away closet monsters, Emma murmured, her voice almost inaudible. Ryan felt something tighten in his chest.

 That night, Emma had woken up crying, convinced there were monsters in the closet had been a turning point for him. Instead of dismissing her fears as irrational, he’d staged an elaborate monster inspection, complete with a flashlight and a magic wand improvised from a pencil. Emma’s relieved smile when she finally fell back asleep had touched something fundamental in him.

 Mom used to work a lot, too, Emma continued. But she always found time for us. Memorial Hospital felt less intimidating this time. Ryan guided the girls through the parking lot, noticing how they moved in an organized formation. Sophie and Olivia at the front, each holding one younger sister’s hand. Natural organization, not imposed. Something they must have learned from Emily, no doubt.

 In the elevator up to the fourth floor, Lucy couldn’t stand still, hopping from one foot to the other in excitement. Olivia kept smoothing her bangs, wanting to look presentable. Sophie was adjusting Emma’s clothes, always taking care of her youngest sister. Ryan watched them, fascinated by the dynamic among them and by the strong bond they shared with Emily.

 “Remember, your mom needs rest,” Ryan said as they walked down the hall. “No jumping on the bed or shouting.” “Okay.” Four heads nodded solemnly. It was impressive how they understood the seriousness of the situation, even at such young ages. The door to room 4:15 was slightly open. Ryan knocked gently and heard Emily’s voice. Come in.

 The girls could barely contain their excitement when they saw their mother. Emily was sitting up in bed, looking paler than Ryan remembered, but smiling with a radiance that lit up her entire face. She wore a colorful scarf on her head, something Ryan hadn’t noticed on his previous visit. “My loves,” she exclaimed, opening her arms.

 They all ran to hug her at once, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Ryan stood back, watching, feeling simultaneously part of the moment and an outsider. Emily looked up over the girl’s heads and met his eyes. Something silent passed between them. “Gratitude, acknowledgement. Maybe a kind of intimacy they’d never truly shared, even in those weeks in Chicago.

 “You all look so beautiful,” Emily said, pulling back slightly to examine each daughter. “So grown up. in just two weeks. Sophie’s reading a new book with big words,” Lucy announced proudly. “And Olivia drew a horse that looks real.” “What about you, my Lucy? What have you been up to?” Emily asked, gently cupping her daughter’s face. “I helped Dad make pancakes.

 They were all weird shapes, but we ate them anyway.” Emily laughed, glancing at Ryan in amused surprise. “Pancakes? I’m impressed.” Ryan shrugged, feeling oddly exposed. They were more like melted clouds, according to the expert critiques. Dad also does funny voices when he reads stories, Olivia said. He does the dragon voice better than Aunt Julie.

 And he lets us build cities with sheets in the living room. Sophie added, “As long as we clean up afterward.” And he didn’t get mad when I spilled juice on the white rug. Emma chimed in, her small voice now audible. Emily took it all in with an expression that was equal parts surprise and pride.

 She kept glancing at Ryan as if seeing him for the first time. “Sounds like you’re having a lot of fun,” she said softly. “We miss you,” Sophie said, her initial joy replaced by a seriousness beyond her years. “When can you come home?” Emily shared a quick look with Ryan. “Soon, honey. The doctors still need to run some tests.” The visit lasted about an hour. The girls talked about school, new friends, Miz, Bennett’s art lessons.

 Emily listened attentively, asking questions, laughing at their stories. But Ryan noticed how easily she got tired, her breathing growing shallow, small winces of pain she tried to hide. Finally, a nurse came in to check Emily’s vitals. “Girls,” Ryan said, taking the opportunity. “How about you go with the nurse to get a snack at the cafeteria? I’m sure she can show you the way.

 The nurse, understanding the cue, smiled. Sure, they have jelly in all sorts of colors today. Promising to return soon, the girls left with the nurse. Lucy, already asking if there was purple jelly, her favorite. Once the room was quiet, Emily exhaled deeply. Thank you for bringing them. It means a lot to me.

 Ryan walked closer, sitting in the chair by the bed. They missed you. They talk about you all the time. and you? What do you have to tell me?” Emily asked, studying him with those eyes that always seemed to see more than he intended to reveal. “I’m adjusting,” he answered cautiously. Emily smiled.

 “From what they said, you’re doing a lot more than adjusting. Dragons, sheet cities, weird pancakes. That’s not the Ryan Walker I knew.” “Maybe I’m not exactly that Ryan anymore,” he admitted, surprised at his own honesty. “You’re changing,” Emily said gently. Don’t run from it. The statement hit harder than he expected. Running from change had been his instinct in the first weeks, burying himself in the office, delegating the care of the girls, staying emotionally distant. But at some point, without realizing it, he had stopped running and

started leaning in to the mess, the unpredictability, the affection. “I’m scared,” he confessed, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “What if I fail them? I’m not like you, Emily. I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t know how to take care of kids. Emily reached out, taking his hand.

 Her fingers were thinner than he remembered, the skin cooler. The man who asks that question has already started taking care of them, she replied firmly. You think I wasn’t scared? I was terrified when I found out I was pregnant. Even more so when I learned it was twins. And again with the second pregnancy.

 No one is born knowing how to be a parent. Ryan, you make it look natural. Because you never saw me crying in the bathroom after Sophie got her first high fever, or when Lucy fell and needed stitches, or the hundreds of sleepless nights, questioning every decision. She squeezed his hand.

 Parenthood isn’t about not being afraid. It’s about moving forward in spite of it. Ryan looked at their joined hands, a simple gesture packed with meaning. This was the woman who had carried and raised his daughters for 6 years alone, who had given up telling him because she believed it was best for everyone, who was now ill, entrusting him with her most precious treasures.

The girls adore you, Emily continued. I can see it in their eyes. Even Olivia, who’s the most cautious, trusts you. You’re doing something right. I’m trying, Ryan admitted. I never thought I’d say this, but I like being with them truly, even when they’re noisy. Even when they mess up the house, even when they wake me at 6 a.m. on a Sunday because they want pancakes.

Emily laughed. A sound that brought back a thousand memories from those weeks in Chicago. Let me guess, Lucy. How do you know? She’s always the first one up. And she’s always hungry. She got that from you. Ryan smiled. I believe it. Unlike me though, she wakes up happy, sometimes singing. A comfortable silence filled the room, different from the tension of their first meeting.

 It was as though the girl’s presence had filled an empty space, creating a bridge between two strangers who actually shared far more than a brief affair 6 years ago. “Come back tomorrow,” Emily asked suddenly. “Just you? I need to tell you something.” The seriousness in her tone made Ryan’s stomach clench. Something about your health. Emily nodded, looking away. It’s important, but not today.

Today was a good day with the girls. I don’t want to ruin it. Ryan felt a wave of apprehension. What could be so serious she wouldn’t mention it during this visit. I’ll come after I drop the girls at school, he promised. When their daughters returned from the cafeteria, showing off tongues stained by different colors of jelly, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. But throughout the visit, Ryan couldn’t stop noticing the signs.

 Emily’s growing fatigue, her occasional shortness of breath mid-sentence, the way she held her arm across her abdomen when she thought no one was looking. Something deep and scary was looming, and Ryan could feel it like a storm on the horizon.

 The question was, would he be ready to face it? The next morning dawned gray with a light drizzle that matched Ryan’s mood. After dropping the girls at school, a new ritual he had begun to appreciate, especially the goodbye hugs and little waves through the car window, he drove straight to the hospital. There was something different in the air of room 415 when he arrived, heavier, perhaps, more final.

 Emily was sitting up in bed, paler than the day before, the colorful scarf on her head almost painfully bright against her palar. “You came,” she said, as though she had doubted he would. “I promised,” Ryan replied, taking a seat next to her. “Without preamble,” he asked. “What do you need to tell me, Emily?” She took a deep breath as though gathering courage.

“It’s cancer, Ryan. Late stage.” Even though he’d suspected something serious, her words punched him in the gut. “How long?” “Treatment now is just to control the pain,” she replied, confirming his worst fears. “We tried everything the past few months, chemo, radiation, surgery. Nothing worked as we hoped.

Ryan felt his world tilt. Terminal cancer. Emily was dying. The mother of his daughters, the woman who had once brought light to his orderly life, was slipping away before his eyes. “Do the girls know?” he asked, his voice almost unrecognizable. Emily shook her head. “They know I’m sick. They don’t know how bad it is.” “I couldn’t tell them.

” “How do you say something like that to children so young? What do the doctors say?” “A few months, maybe if we’re lucky,” her voice quavered. It’s never enough time, Ryan. It never would be enough. Ryan felt something shatter inside him. An invisible dam holding back emotions for years.

 The thought of a world without Emily, of his daughters growing up without their mother, was unbearable in a way he never could have imagined, even a few weeks ago. “What can I do?” he asked, feeling completely powerless. Emily looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears she hadn’t shed. I want to go home to be with them with you. I don’t want their last memory of me to be in a hospital room.

 Ryan immediately understood what she was asking. It wasn’t just about a roof over her head, a place to spend her final days. She wanted a home, a family, the chance to create memories that would sustain four little girls through the long years without her. Without hesitation, he took her hand in both of his. Then come, the house is yours, too.

The words came without calculation or effort. For the first time in his life, Ryan Walker wasn’t considering implications or inconveniences. He was simply offering what was needed, a haven, a home, his presence. He was welcoming Emily without reservation, not out of obligation, but because it was the only possible answer.

 Emily squeezed his hand, a lone tear rolling down her cheek. Are you sure? It won’t be easy. I’ll need home care, nursing. We’ll figure it out,” Ryan said with a conviction he’d never felt before. “The girls need you, and you need them.” What remained unsaid, but understood by both, was that he needed her, too.

 He needed her guidance, her wisdom, her example as he navigated this abrupt journey into fatherhood. He needed to learn all he could in the months that remained. “Thank you,” Emily whispered, for everything. for taking care of them, for letting them into your world, for letting me in, too.” Ryan nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. In just over 2 weeks, his organized, controlled life had been completely transformed.

 The once silent mansion now echoed with children’s laughter, and soon it would also shelter their mother, on a journey none of them had planned, but which they would face together. Looking at Emily, Ryan realized the transformation within him was complete. The man he had been, isolated, controlled, predictable, was taking his leave, making room for someone he barely recognized, someone who roared like a dragon, permitted glitter in the bathtub on special occasions, learned to love four little intruders, and was ready to welcome their mother in her final chapter. Someone who, for the first time

in his adult life, was putting his heart above order. The soft morning light filtered through the hospital curtains when the doctor signed the discharge papers. Emily watched out the window of her small world for the past few weeks while Ryan took care of final details with the medical staff.

 Instructions about medication, special care, warning signs. He jotted it all down meticulously as though it were the most important contract of his career. In a way, it was ready? Ryan asked, entering the room with a wheelchair. Hospital policy required all patients to leave that way, no matter their condition. Emily smiled. I’ve been ready for weeks. The ride home was quiet.

 Emily looked out the car window, taking in the world outside, people walking, trees swaying in the wind, a sky so brilliantly blue it felt almost offensive in its perfection. Ryan drove with unusual caution, avoiding potholes, slowing for turns as if carrying something infinitely precious. Do the girls know I’m coming?” she asked, breaking the silence. “Yes, they’ve been decorating your room since yesterday. They wouldn’t let me see the final result. It’s a surprise.” Emily chuckled softly.

 “I hope it doesn’t involve too much glitter. No guarantees. Lucy’s in charge of decorations.” When they finally reached the mansion, Ryan helped Emily out of the car carefully. She was thinner, more fragile, but her eyes shone with anticipation. Mom. The shout came in unison when the door opened.

 All four girls were lined up in the foyer, each holding a decorated letter that spelled out welcome. Though slightly misspelled, the imperfection only made the gesture more moving. Emily opened her arms and the girls rushed to her, forming a group hug that was both the most fragile and the strongest thing in the world. Ryan watched from behind, feeling a surge of emotion he couldn’t name swelling in his chest. Come see your room,” Lucy exclaimed, grabbing her mother’s hand.

“I drew something on the wall. Dad said it was okay.” “I helped organize your medication,” Sophie added. Ever practical. “And I picked the throw pillows,” Olivia said. Emma simply held Emily’s other hand, silently guiding her inside. Ryan followed them down the hall, carrying Emily’s bag. The last few days had been hectic preparation, consulting specialists about home hospice care, hiring a visiting nurse, adapting one of the main floor bedrooms so Emily wouldn’t have to climb stairs. The room the girls prepared was an

explosion of color and love. Drawings covered an entire wall. Fresh flowers in colorful vases occupied the dresser. Pillows and cushions in every possible hue transformed the bed into something resembling a cozy nest. “You did all this for me?” Emily asked, her voice trembling with emotion. Dad helped, Sophie said.

 He bought the flowers and hung the drawings at the right height. Emily looked at Ryan, a silent question in her eyes. The girls handled all the creative work, he explained. I just provided the ladder and the credit card. And let us do it our way, Olivia added without complaining about the mess.

 The way she said it, as if it were an extraordinary achievement, made Emily smile once more. It sounds like you’re all successfully domesticating him. Ryan feigned indignation, but couldn’t hide his own smile. It was true they had domesticated him, and surprisingly, he didn’t mind at all. The days that followed established a new routine in the house. Nurse Wilson came each morning to check Emily’s vitals and administer medications. Ms.

 Bennett continued caring for the girls during the day, now often including Emily whenever she felt up to it. Mrs. Davis ran the household with double efficiency, adding to her routine, the preparation of light meals Emily could tolerate. And Ryan Ryan adapted. He reorganized his office to work more from home. He joined in family meals, even when they involved endless unicorn stories at dinner.

 He learned to administer medication to recognize signs of pain before Emily voiced them. The house, once a monument to order and silence, changed day by day. Drawings were no longer confined to the girl’s room or Emily’s. They now covered the refrigerator, appeared on the hallway walls, and even decorated the door to Ryan’s office.

 The scent of coffee mingled with the aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Children’s music played in the living room. Story books turned up in the most unexpected places, including Ryan’s bedside table. One afternoon, while the girls played in the backyard under Ms. Bennett’s supervision, Ryan found Emily on the porch watching them. She was wrapped in a blanket despite the mild weather.

 Chemotherapy had left her constantly feeling cold. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair beside her. “Eily nodded, smiling faintly.” “Technically, it’s your porch.” “Not anymore,” he replied, sitting. I think it’s officially been annexed by the Warrior Princesses,” Emily laughed, referring to the girl’s current makebelieve game with Sophie leading an expedition to defeat an imaginary dragon. “Thank you,” she said after a moment of comfortable silence.

 “For all of this, for opening your home, your life. They’re my daughters, too,” Ryan said simply. “And you’re their mother. Even so, it’s not a typical situation. Most men wouldn’t accept it so easily.” Ryan thought about it a few weeks ago. He probably would have been one of those men.

 Practical, distant, offering financial support, but keeping emotional distance. Most men don’t have four little intruders who change their world overnight, he finally answered. They fell silent again, watching the girls. Lucy had climbed a low tree, proclaiming herself queen of the world. Olivia was drawing a map of the battle. Emma trailed after Sophie like a loyal shadow, brandishing a stick as a sword.

 “You raised them so well,” Ryan remarked. “They’re extraordinary, aren’t they?” Pride filled Emily’s voice. “Sometimes I look at them and can’t believe they’re real, that I helped shape such complete little people, so uniquely themselves.” Ryan understood the feeling. Even though he’d joined their lives so recently, he already felt a similar pride when Sophie solved a tough problem or Olivia made a strikingly perceptive comment or Lucy infused magic into ordinary things.

 Or Emma overcame her shyness to share an idea. “How are you feeling today?” he asked, noticing Emily seemed less fatigued than in previous days. “It’s a good day,” she replied. “It hurts less. and seeing them like this, it’s the best medicine. Another silence settled. Not awkward or empty. It was a silence of mutual understanding.

 “It’s funny,” Emily finally said. “We were never really a couple, but we are a family.” Ryan reflected on her words. “It was true. They had never been a traditional couple. They’d had a brief romance that led to four wonderful lives, but never shared the journey of building a relationship. Now though, they were united by something perhaps deeper than romance.

 The love they both felt for these four small people, forging an undeniable connection. “And it’s the best thing I’ve ever been,” he replied, surprising himself with the sincerity of that statement. Emily looked at him, her eyes shining with restrained emotion. “There was no romantic love in that gaze, no longing for what might have been, only recognition, gratitude, and a profound mutual understanding. It wasn’t romantic love.

 It was something different, something real and substantial, built on genuine care, respect, and a shared purpose. That evening during dinner, Ryan surveyed his kitchen. The table once set for just him, now seated six. Emily was at the head, frail but present, helping Emma cut her food. Lucy was telling an elaborate story about her music teacher. Olivia was correcting the factual inconsistencies in Lucy’s tale.

 Sophie was discreetly organizing her mom’s medications for After the Meal. This coexistence forced by destiny had grown into genuine bonds. Bonds woven by daily care, by small kindnesses, by shared routines. Bonds that had created something Ryan never thought he’d have, a family. On the refrigerator, new drawings appeared daily.

 On the kitchen calendar, medical appointments shared space with school recital and birthday parties. On the shelves, medication lined up beside colorful cereal boxes and chocolate cookies. The weeks went by, bringing a change of seasons. The blossoms in the garden gave way to the first yellow leaves of fall. Time passed, marking changes within the mansion that had become, without doubt, a home. The biggest change was visible in everyone’s eyes. Emily was weaker.

Each day brought a new battle against the illness that insisted on advancing. Despite all the care, all the medication, all the love surrounding her, her body diminished, but her spirit remained whole, a light refusing to dim even as the lamp’s oil ran low. One Tuesday morning, Mrs. Wilson, the nurse, arrived with an item that would alter the family’s dynamics. A wheelchair.

 For the days she’s too tired, she explained gently. It’ll help Emily save energy while still joining in. Ryan nodded, swallowing hard. Every new piece of medical equipment was a reminder of the inevitable. But as he’d learned over the past weeks, acceptance didn’t mean giving up.

 It meant adapting to seize every available moment. When the girls got home from school that day, their reaction to the wheelchair surprised Ryan. They didn’t see it as a symbol of decline, but rather of new possibilities. Dad, can I push mom to the porch? Lucy asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

 Can I decorate the chair with my colorful ribbons? I can make special pillows so she’s more comfortable, Olivia offered, mentally calculating dimensions. Ryan watched, fascinated as the girls transformed what could have been a somber moment into something practical and even joyful. Emily smiled from where she lay, observing the scene.

 I guess I just got four private chauffeers, she joked, winking at Ryan. Sophie, always most sensitive to nuances, approached her mother. This will help you spend more time with us, right? Without getting so tired. Emily squeezed her eldest daughter’s hand. Exactly, dear. It’s just a way to save energy for the important things, like hearing about your day at school or seeing Lucy’s drawings. The natural way the family adapted to the new reality amazed Ryan.

There were no big dramas or complicated explanations, just acceptance and practical solutions. Care flowed among them like water finding its path, naturally without apparent effort, simply following the most logical route. The mornings took on a new routine.

 Ryan woke before everyone else to prepare Emily’s medications and check if she’d slept well. Mrs. Davis arrived early to make breakfast for the girls. Sophie helped the younger ones get ready for school while Ryan assisted Emily with her morning hygiene, a private, intimate moment they had learned to navigate with respect and dignity.

 Who would have guessed you’d be so good at this? Emily commented one morning. While Ryan deafly braided her hair, now growing back after chemo, though thinner and more delicate. I’ve been practicing on Lucas, he replied, focused on his task. She’s a demanding teacher. Afternoons had become special. After school, the girls took turns telling Emily about their day.

 Ryan had rearranged his schedule so he could be home for these moments, realizing they weren’t just precious for Emily. They were vital for him as well. Olivia showed off her drawings, more detailed and impressive each day. Lucy recounted elaborate tales about her playground adventures, often involving magical kingdoms and fantastic creatures.

 Sophie discussed books and science, her thirst for knowledge growing, and Emma, still the quiet one, would simply sit beside her mother, sometimes reading to her in a careful little voice that gained confidence with every page. The good days were celebrated as gifts. Days when Emily had enough energy to sit on the porch and watch the girls play in the yard. Days she could eat a full meal without feeling nauseious.

 Days when her smile came easily without the effort only Ryan could sometimes see. The hard days were faced with the same unity. When the pain was too severe and the medication made Emily confused or drowsy. When the fatigue was so overwhelming that even talking was a monumental effort.

 On those days, the girls instinctively adjusted, played more quietly, told gentler stories, left drawings and cards by her bedside to see when she woke. And Ryan, Ryan had learned to navigate both kinds of days with a new skill he never imagined he possessed. Flexibility. He, who once lived by the clock and careful planning, now adapted to the day’s pace.

 cancelling meetings without regret if Emily needed a hospital visit. Improvising dinner when they realized too late nothing was planned. Reading bedtime stories on the stairway when a nightmare disturbed one of the girls and she didn’t want to wake the others. One particularly tough night after Emily finally drifted off following hours of discomfort.

 Ryan found Sophie sitting alone in the kitchen, a glass of untouched milk in front of her. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, taking a seat beside her. I’m scared, the girl admitted, her voice small, contradicting her usual confident demeanor. Scared of what, sweetheart? Forgetting. Tears welled in her eyes.

 Sometimes I try to remember how mom’s voice sounded before she got sick, and I can’t hear it clearly in my head. What if I forget other things, too? Ryan’s heart squeezed. Sophie was only 10, but she understood in a way her younger sisters couldn’t yet what was happening. Lacking the right words, Ryan did something he never would have done months ago. He opened his arms.

 Sophie hesitated only a second before throwing herself against his chest, sobbing quietly. “We’ll make a memory box,” he said once her sobs subsided. “With photos, stories, little things that remind you of mom.” “Whenever you’re scared of forgetting, you can open the box.” Sophie lifted her face, tears still shining, but a spark of hope in her eyes.

 Can we record her voice, too? Reading stories or just talking? That’s a brilliant idea, Ryan replied. We’ll start tomorrow. In the days that followed, the Memory Box project became a family mission. Emily participated eagerly, telling stories while Ryan discreetly recorded her, answering the girl’s questions about her childhood, about how she’d met Ryan, about her dreams and hopes.

 What began as a way to preserve the past became a celebration of the present. As the weeks passed, the wheelchair became a constant presence. Lucy’s ribbons adorned the wheels. Olivia’s special cushions ensured comfort. Sophie’s improvised cup holder kept Emily’s tea within reach, and Emma’s stuffed animal pouch guaranteed mom always had a cuddly friend at hand. Ryan learned to maneuver it smoothly, avoiding bumps and adjusting the speed to Emily’s mood.

 Sometimes she’d ask him to go faster, and he’d oblige, spurring delighted giggles from the girls racing alongside. Other times, they’d simply glide slowly along the porch, watching the sunset in shared silence. One afternoon, while Ryan was preparing dinner, a skill he was slowly improving with gradually fewer disasters, Lucy ran into the kitchen.

 “Dad, did you burn the sauce again?” she asked, eyeing the smoking pan. “It’s not burnt,” Ryan defended, though the smell suggested otherwise. “It’s caramelized,” Lucy giggled. That contagious laugh that lit up the entire house. Mom says you’re unbelievable in the kitchen. Unbelievably bad, I suspect. No, unbelievably persistent. You never give up, even when you mess everything up.

Ryan smiled, realizing the comment applied to more than just cooking. It was true. He had become someone who didn’t give up easily, who tried and failed and tried again without the rigid perfectionism of the past. “You know what else?” Mom said,” Lucy continued, retrieving plates to set the table.

 “She said, you’re our super dad.” He to even without a cape. The words hit him like an unexpected ray of sunshine. “Super dad. He who never wanted to be a father, who believed he lacked any parental instinct, who feared failing at this role thrust upon him.” “Your mom said that?” he asked, trying to conceal the emotion in his voice.

 Lucy nodded vigorously. She said, “You learned faster than most people. That you’re a real dad now.” A real dad. Ryan realized he was no longer the solitary man he’d been months earlier. That Ryan Walker, methodical and secluded, had given way to someone else.

 Someone who could do, albeit crooked braids, invent bedtime stories, check closets for imaginary monsters, hold little hands through nightmares, and dry tears after bike mishaps. He was no longer just a man with a house. He was a home for four girls and for Emily as long as she remained with them five and 84 Dasimu Sunday dawned beautiful blue skies, mild temperature, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. Ryan had noticed Emily looking out the window earlier, her face filled with longing.

 At that moment, he made a decision. “Let’s go on a picnic,” he announced at breakfast to the girl’s instant delight. “Is mom coming too?” Emma asked, looking anxiously at Emily, who appeared paler than usual that morning. “Of course I am,” Emily replied before Ryan could intervene. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

” Preparations turned into cheerful chaos. Mrs. Davis prepared sandwiches and fruit. Lucy insisted on bringing her magic tea set. Olivia selected books and art materials. Sophie organized extra blankets and cushions while Emma simply followed everyone with her teddy bear, soaking in the excitement. Ryan handled the practical details.

 Emily’s medication, sunscreen for the girls, choosing a tranquil park, finding the perfect spot under a tree that would shade Emily’s wheelchair. When they finally arrived at the park, the girls happiness was tangible. They ran across the grass, chasing soap bubbles Sophie blew. Emily watched from beneath the tree.

 her face lit by a smile that despite her fatigue was genuine. Ryan sat beside her on the grass, adjusting the wheelchair’s angle so she had a better view of the girls. “Thank you for this,” Emily said softly. “It was exactly what I needed. The girls needed it, too,” he replied. “And so did I.” Emily extended her hand, and Ryan took it without hesitation.

 Their touch had become natural, a silent conversation beyond their initial discomfort. “You know,” Emily said, her eyes following the daughters now trying to pick wild flowers at the edge of the lawn. “I’m at peace, Ryan. You made this a family,” Ryan gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “We did. You, me, them.” “When I found out I was sick,” Emily continued, her voice soft but steady. “My biggest fear wasn’t dying.

 It was leaving them without a complete family. She looked into his eyes. Now I know they won’t be. You’ve become the father they deserve. Her words touched him deeply, stirring parts of him he hadn’t known existed before these girls came into his life. Before he could reply, the girls came running back with makeshift bouquets of dandelions and wild daisies. Look, Mom.

 We made flower crowns for everyone, Lucy exclaimed, placing a clumsy ring of yellow blossoms on Emily’s head. “I made one for you, too, Dad,” Olivia added, offering him a slightly more elaborate crown. Ryan lowered his head, letting her settle the flowers on his hair.

 “A gesture that would have seemed absurd to the Ryan of 6 months ago, but now felt perfectly normal. “We’re happy because we have mom and dad together,” Sophie declared, sitting between them. Even if dad still messes up the juice, Lucy added, prompting laughter all around. Hey, I’m getting better, Ryan protested with mock indignation.

 Last week, I figured out the difference between orange and apple, only because one is orange and the other is not orange, Olivia teased. Their laughter mingled with the soft breeze. Emily laughed as well, her face lit in a way that made her illness seem momentarily distant, giving room to this perfect moment. As it got cooler, Ryan carefully wrapped a shawl around Emily’s shoulders, preparing to head back.

 The girls helped gather their things while he checked to make sure Emily was comfortable. “Ready to go home?” he asked. Emily nodded, her eyes conveying everything that didn’t need to be said aloud. “Fatigue, yes, but also gratitude, fulfillment, love.” Ryan began pushing the wheelchair along the park’s path, slow and steady.

 The girls skipped ahead, stopping occasionally to show them something interesting. A leaf carrying ant, a curiously shaped rock, a cloud that resembled a rabbit. Olivia ran back and handed Emily a sheet from her sketchbook. A quick but remarkably accurate drawing of the scene they just experienced. All of them under the tree wearing flower crowns, smiling.

 “For you to keep, Mom,” she said, then darted off to rejoin her sisters. Emily clutched the drawing to her chest, tears in her eyes. Ryan continued pushing the chair, maintaining the gentle pace he knew was best for her. Ahead, the four girls walked and danced, their laughter drifting through the late afternoon air.

 In that moment, watching his daughters in front of him, feeling Emily’s light grasp on his hand over the wheelchair handle, Ryan fully understood what they had built. It wasn’t the family any of them had planned or expected. It was imperfect, overshadowed by illness, forged by chance and late revelations. But it was real. A family shaped by the time, however brief, by daily care, sometimes clumsy, and by the love that had blossomed precisely in the imperfection of their circumstances.