To see the doctor.
To take a test.
He refused.
Within weeks, he had moved out.
His family believed him.
His friends believed him.
And eventually, the divorce papers arrived.
I signed them while seven months pregnant.
I gave birth to four boys.
Yes.
Four.
The doctors had discovered the truth during an ultrasound.
Four babies.
Four heartbeats.
A rare pregnancy.
Adrian never came to see them.
Not once.
And now, eight years later, he wanted me to bring them to Christmas.
I wondered if he remembered what he had said.
I wondered if he would recognize his own face staring back at him.
Page 3
We arrived at Cedarcrest Estate just before sunset on Christmas Eve.
The house was enormous.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
Snow covering the gardens.
Golden lights wrapped around the trees.
The boys pressed their faces against the car windows.
“Mom,” Samuel whispered.
“What?”
“Is that a castle?”
“Almost.”
When I parked, I saw several cars already there.
Adrian’s parents were there.
His older sister.
Two cousins.
And several people I didn’t recognize.
The boys climbed out.
I stood beside the car and took a breath.
Then I looked at them.
Four boys.
Four identical reminders of the man who had once broken my heart.
“Ready?”
Ethan nodded.
The others followed.
We walked toward the front door.
Before I could knock, it opened.
Adrian stood there.
Eight years had changed him.
His hair was shorter.
There were lines around his eyes.
He looked stronger.
Older.
More controlled.
But his face was still the face I remembered.
He looked at me first.
Then his eyes moved downward.
And stopped.
On Ethan.
Then Daniel.
Then Noah.
Then Samuel.
Nobody spoke.
Adrian’s face changed.
The color disappeared from it.
His lips parted slightly.
He looked at the four boys again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As though he was looking at four pieces of a photograph he had spent years trying to forget.
Behind him, a woman’s voice said:
“Adrian?”
Vanessa appeared.
She was elegant.
Beautiful.
Perfectly dressed.
She smiled politely.
Then she saw the boys.
Her smile disappeared.
Adrian whispered:
