28. Duncan
DUNCAN
S lipping out before Ivy and the triplets woke, I arrived at the office before dawn, the building empty except for security and the cleaning crew.
The elevator carried me to my floor in silence, and I walked to my office with the heavy manila envelope Nick had left on my desk the previous evening.
The retirement papers. "Final draft," he'd written in his careful handwriting across the top.
I spread the documents across my desk, each page representing months of planning and negotiation. The transition timeline, the financial arrangements, the carefully worded press release announcing my departure. Everything was there, neat and organized, waiting for my signature.
The numbers were generous—more than generous.
The board had agreed to a buyout that would set me up for life, let me disappear to whatever quiet corner of the world I chose.
I could buy a house on the coast, spend my days reading and walking on the beach, forget about deadlines and board meetings and the constant pressure of running a company.
Six months ago, it had sounded like paradise. Now it felt like exile.
My phone buzzed. Nick's name appeared on the screen and despite not wanting to have this conversation so early in the morning, I answered.
"You're in early," he said. I detected a hint of grumpiness in his tone that matched my mood.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Look over the papers yet?"
I stared at the documents, my pen lying untouched beside them. "I'm reviewing them now."
"The board meets Thursday. They'll want an answer."
"I know."
"Duncan, I hope you're not second-guessing this because of what happened with Ivy. I understand that's complicated, but don't let it derail months of planning."
I leaned back in my chair, watching the sun rise over the city skyline. "I'm close to a decision."
"Close isn't good enough. The board has been patient, but they need certainty. Either you're staying or you're going."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because from where I sit, it looks like you're letting personal feelings cloud your judgment."
The words stung because they carried truth.
My feelings for Ivy had changed everything—not just my plans, but my entire perspective on what I wanted from life.
The quiet retirement I'd craved felt hollow now, meaningless.
I realized what I'd been craving wasn’t an escape from my career or current life, but someone to share it all with.
And now I had a real chance at having that, and it all seemed to be going a direction I no longer wanted.
"I'll have an answer by Thursday," I said.
"Good. And Duncan? Whatever you decide, make sure it's based on reality, not wishful thinking."
I ended the call and stared at the papers for another hour, but the words blurred together.
Nick had dragged his feet for so long, and now it seemed like he was pushing me instead.
It was hard not to be confused by everything, and the last thing I needed was to be given bad advice.
I needed time and space to think, and I needed to get some things off my chest.
I gathered the papers up and shoved them back into the envelope. I had other business to attend to in the form of speaking with my old friend who thought of me more like a backstabber than a buddy anymore.
The drive to Bill's house took me through neighborhoods I'd known for decades.
Past the coffee shop where he and I used to meet for breakfast meetings.
Past the park where we'd sometimes walked when we needed to discuss sensitive business away from the office.
Twenty years of friendship, and I was about to risk whatever remained of it.
Bill answered the door himself, his face hardening when he saw me.
"I don't want to talk about Ivy," I said before he could speak.
"Then we have nothing to discuss."
"We have everything to discuss. The children, Bill. Your grandchildren."
His jaw tightened and I noticed anger under the surface, but he stepped aside to let me in. The house was quiet—Barbara must have been resting still. I assumed he opted for quiet and peace over confrontation. I followed him inside and shut the door behind us.
We sat in his study, the same room where we'd celebrated successful deals and planned expansion strategies. The distance between us felt wider than the few feet of carpet that separated our chairs.
"You want to talk about the children?" Bill's voice was cold. "Fine. Let's talk about how you robbed me of almost four years with them. How you let my daughter disappear without a word while you went on with your life."
"I didn't know?—"
"You didn't want to know. There's a difference."
I absorbed the blow because he was right. I could have called. Could have checked on her. Could have done a hundred things differently.
"You're right," I said. "I failed her. I failed you. But punishing her now won't change what happened."
"I'm not punishing her."
"You threw her out of your house. You won't speak to her. If that's not punishment, what is it?" I was seething but I maintained my composure. Him taking his anger out on Ivy because of what I did was not okay, and I wouldn't let it continue.
Bill stood and walked to the window, his back to me. "You have no idea what it's been like. Finding out about the children, realizing she's been struggling alone all this time. And then discovering it was you—my friend, the man I trusted—who was responsible."
"I want to make it right."
"How? By swooping in now and playing father? By offering her a place to stay out of guilt?"
"Not guilt. Love."
The word carved a chasm between us and Bill turned from the window with anger in his eyes. But there was a sadness there too, something so deep I knew it didn’t just stem from this argument. He was blaming himself for letting her down too.
"Love," he repeated. "That's what you call it?"
"Yes."
"And what about when you got her pregnant? Was that love too?"
I met his gaze steadily. "I don't know what it was four years ago. I was confused, scared, coming off the worst period of my life—with Meranda." I paused and took a breath. I wasn't going to bring my past into this as some excuse. "But I know what it is now."
"And you think that's enough? You think you can just decide to love her and everything will be fine?" Bill's bottom lip trembled but he wasn't backing down.
"I think she deserves better than what I gave her before. I think those children deserve a father who's present, not one who runs away when things get complicated." I wanted to stand up to him, put him in his place, but I was conscious of Barbara and her recovery. I held my tongue.
"You forfeited your say the moment you touched her."
"Maybe. But I'm not asking for your permission. I'm asking you to stop punishing her for choices she made when she was scared and alone."
Bill's face flushed. "You have no right?—"
"Stop." Barbara's voice cut through the tension. She stood in the doorway, fully dressed but pale. "Both of you, stop."
We turned to her, and I saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the toll that all of this was taking on her.
"We've all suffered enough," she said quietly. "Bill, she's our daughter. Our only child. I won't lose her again because of your pride."
"Barbara—"
"No." She moved into the room but she didn't move toward him. "I won't watch you drive her away. I won't watch my grandchildren grow up thinking their grandfather doesn't love them."
Bill stared at his wife, conflict written across his face. "You can't just forgive him."
"I'm not talking about forgiveness. I'm talking about family. About what we all need to heal."
The room fell silent. I could hear the grandfather clock in the hallway ticking, marking the passage of time we'd all lost. If anyone had a hold on Bill's conscience it was this woman whom he loved so much.
And with her diagnosis and the fear of losing her so fresh in everyone's mind, I could see Bill's wheel's turning.
Pushing Ivy away, hating me—those were only keeping this family broken.
And how would Bill feel if Barbara's final days were memorialized by arguments and strife?
"I'll think about it," Bill said finally.
It wasn't forgiveness, but it was something.
I left them to discuss it privately and drove home rather than to work, my mind churning with everything that had been said and everything that remained unspoken.
When I pulled up I noticed Ivy's car still parked out front.
She hadn't mentioned needing the day off, but at this point I just wanted everything to be calm without drama.
I found the triplets in the living room, building an elaborate tower out of colorful blocks. They worked with intense concentration, Elena directing while Sammy and Chrissy followed her instructions. The tower was already taller than they were, swaying slightly but holding together.
"Mr. Duncan!" Chrissy spotted me first and ran over, pressing a small plastic hammer into my hand. "We need help. The tower keeps falling."
I looked at the toy hammer, then at the expectant faces surrounding me. Ivy stood in the doorway, watching with an expression I couldn't read. I smiled sadly at her, not sure how to tell her what happened at her parents' house, and followed Chrissy to the pile of blocks.
"What kind of help do you need?" I asked.
"You can be the fixer," Elena explained. "When it falls down, you put it back together."
I knelt on the floor beside them, my suit pants wrinkling as I became a child at heart again. "Show me how."
For the next hour, I learned the intricacies of block tower construction.
I discovered that Elena preferred patterns, that Sammy had an instinct for structural integrity, and that Chrissy liked to test the limits of how much weight the tower could bear.
When it inevitably collapsed, we built it again, each iteration more ambitious than the last.
"You're good at this," Elena said approvingly as I steadied a particularly precarious section.
"I'm learning."
Ivy had moved to the kitchen, but I caught her watching us several times. Finally, she approached and sat on the couch nearby.
"Careful," she said when Chrissy reached for another block. "That one's wobbly."
"All towers are wobbly," Elena said with three-year-old wisdom.
I caught Ivy's eye and saw her smile, the first real smile I'd seen from her all day. But when the children became absorbed in their building again, her expression grew serious.
"What's wrong?" I asked quietly, moving away from the kids to kneel in front of her.
She shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking." Taking her hands I brought them to my lips and pressed a kiss to them.
"Ivy—"
"I see the way you look at them," she said. "The way you want to be their father."
"I do want that, more than anything." My crisis of conscience must've shown on my face because she frowned at me. "But not if it costs you your family." I set down the block I'd been holding and turned to face her fully.
"I'm scared," she mumbled… and I frowned at her.
"Of what?" I asked, still holding her trembling hands.
"Of just being some obligation to you."
"Never," I promised with another kiss on her knuckles. "Can I tell you something?" I asked and she nodded solemnly. "I'm scared too. Of standing in the way of your relationship with your parents. Of forcing you into a position where you have to walk away from the people who raised you."
She was quiet for a long moment. "What if I want to choose you?"
"Then I need to know it's really your choice, not just the only option you have left." Like her, I didn’t want to be chosen out of something other than love. "I love you, Ivy."
The honesty felt raw between us. I watched her face, looking for some sign of what she was thinking.
I wanted to tell her everything—about the papers, about the board meeting, about the choice I had to make.
But the words stuck in my throat. How could I ask her to build a life with me when I wasn't even sure what that life would look like?
The tower fell again, and the children cheered, already planning their next construction project. I watched them, these small people who were mine but didn't know it yet, and felt the weight of everything I stood to gain and lose.
I wanted to be their father. I wanted to wake up every morning knowing they were safe and loved. I wanted to teach them to drive and help them with homework and walk them down the aisle someday.
I’d built my escape down to the hour—paperwork finalized, bank accounts arranged, a clean break from the weight of boardrooms and betrayals.
But sitting here now with Ivy's fingers threaded through mine, and feeling the soft imprint of her nails still on my skin, I realized it hadn’t been freedom I was chasing.
It was safety. Anonymity. A life where no one could choose someone else over me again.
But this life—this mess, this chaos, these children and the woman I should’ve fought harder to keep—this was never an obligation.
It was a second chance. And with her in my arms and those kids calling me Mr. Duncan, melting my heart, I didn’t want to disappear.
I wanted to stay and earn the place they were already giving me.