Page 60 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"Sit down." I gestured to the chair across from my desk.
She perched on the edge of the seat, back straight, hands folded in her lap. The distance between us felt calculated, necessary. If she got too close, I'd lose what little control I'd managed to rebuild over the past forty-eight hours.
"I need to ask you some questions," I began, keeping my tone neutral. "And I need honest answers. No more lies, no more evasions."
She nodded, though I could see her swallow hard.
"When did you find out you were pregnant?"
"Eight weeks after we—" She stopped, corrected herself. "Eight weeks after that night. I was debating, college or that internship, and well…"
"And you never once considered telling me?"
Her composure cracked slightly. "I thought about it constantly. But I was terrified, Duncan. You'd already been through one scandal with a younger woman. I convinced myself that telling you would only make everything worse."
"Worse for who?"
"For everyone. For you, for me, for the babies." Her voice grew smaller. "I was twenty and scared and completely overwhelmed. I thought I was protecting all of us."
I leaned back in my chair, studying her face. "What was your long-term plan, Ivy? Were you going to let me go their entire childhood without knowing they existed?"
"I don't know." The admission came out as barely a whisper. "I kept telling myself I'd figure it out eventually. That I'd find the right time, the right words. But the longer I waited, the harder it became."
"Three years, Ivy. Three years of birthdays and first steps and bedtime stories that I missed because you decided I didn't deserve to know."
Tears began sliding down her cheeks. "I know. I know what I took from you, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I stood up and walked to the window, needing the physical distance. The city sprawled below us, indifferent to the chaos unfolding in this office. "Do you have any idea what it's been doing to me these past three days? Thinking about everything I've missed?"
"Duncan—"
"Their first words. Their first Christmas. Did they crawl early? Walk early? Do they have nightmares? Food allergies? Are they afraid of the dark?" The questions poured out of me, each one a reminder of how much I didn't know about my own children.
"Sammy walked first, at ten months. Elena and Chrissy followed a week later," she said quietly. "They all love books. Elena's afraid of thunderstorms, but Chrissy thinks they're exciting. Sammy has your stubborn streak—when he decides he doesn't want to do something, there's no changing his mind."
I turned back to face her. "You're telling me about them now, but that doesn't change the fact that I should have been there. I should have been the one reading them those books, comforting Elena during storms, dealing with Sammy's stubborn phases."
"I know." Her voice broke on the words. "I know I was wrong. I know I was selfish. But I was so young, and I was scared, and I thought?—"
"You thought what? That I wouldn't want them? That I'd abandon them?"
"I thought you'd stay out of obligation, not love. I thought you'd resent me for trapping you." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "And I thought the media would tear us apart. Another scandal, another young woman trying to trap the wealthy businessman."
The mention of media attention made my jaw clench. She wasn't wrong—the press would have had a field day with the story. But that didn't excuse keeping my children from me.
"So you made the decision for me," I said. "You decided I wasn't trustworthy enough to handle the situation properly."
"That's not?—"
"That's exactly what you did." I moved back to my desk, gripping the edge. "You looked at me and decided I wasn't the kind of man who could be a good father. You decided I was too weak or too selfish or too damaged to be trusted with the truth."
"No, Duncan. That's not what I thought."
"Then what?" I demanded. "What exactly did you think would happen if you told me?"
She was crying openly now, her careful composure completely shattered. "I thought you'd break my heart. I thought you'd do the right thing because you had to, not because you wanted to. And I thought I'd rather raise them alone than watch you slowly grow to hate me for ruining your life."
Her words gutted me, not because they were wrong, but because they revealed how little she'd understood about what I wanted. How little she'd trusted me to make the right choice.
