31. Ivy
IVY
W hen I got to the park, I found Dad sitting on the same bench where he used to read me stories when I was seven. Every time I saw him he looked more tired and weary. Mom's diagnosis really weighed on him, and it was evident in his posture and the dark circles under his eyes.
"Thank you for coming," he said as I settled beside him.
We sat in awkward silence for a moment, watching a young mother push her toddler on the swings. The child's carefree laughter echoed across the playground.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he began, his voice careful. "About Duncan. About the children. About all of it."
My heart began to race, but I kept my expression neutral. "And?"
"I'm not ready to accept everything. I won't lie to you about that." He turned to face me more fully. "But I don't want to lose you. Or them. I can't lose any more of my family."
The raw pain in his voice caught me off guard. This was the man who had built an empire through sheer determination, who had never let emotion interfere with business decisions. But sitting here, he looked like nothing more than a father who was scared of losing his daughter.
"You're not going to lose us, Dad."
"Aren't I?" He ran a hand through his graying hair. "Ivy, I've made so many mistakes. With you, with Duncan, with how I handled everything when you were growing up. I was so focused on protecting you that I forgot to trust you."
"You were doing what you thought was best."
"Was I? Or was I just trying to control everything because I was afraid of what might happen if I didn't?"
I thought about all the times he'd made decisions for me, all the ways he'd tried to shape my life according to his vision of what was safe and appropriate.
"Maybe both," I said finally.
He nodded, accepting the honesty. "When I made Duncan promise to stay away from you, I thought I was protecting you from getting hurt. From the kind of scandal that had already damaged his reputation once."
"I know."
"But I didn't account for the fact that you might want to make your own choices. Even if they were risky ones."
"Especially the risky ones," I said and I couldn't hide my grin.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You always were stubborn."
"I learned from the best."
We fell into another silence, but this one felt different.
Less strained, more thoughtful. A couple walked past with their dog, and I found myself thinking about all the mornings Dad had spent with the triplets over the past few months.
How he'd learned to make their breakfast exactly the way they liked it, how he'd started reading them bedtime stories when I was too exhausted from the hospital visits.
"I love them," he said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "Sammy and Chrissy and Elena. I love them so much it scares me."
"I know you do."
"When I first realized they were yours, I was angry. At you, at Duncan—I knew it the moment I looked at them." Dad glowered at me and then continued. "But then Sammy climbed into my lap that first night and asked me to read him a story, and I was lost."
I smiled at the memory. "He has that effect on people."
"They all do. Elena with her endless hugs, Chrissy with her million questions about everything. They've brought life back into that house in a way I didn't know I needed."
"They've brought life to me too."
"I can see that." He looked at me with something that might have been pride. "You're a good mother, Ivy. Better than I was a father."
"Dad—"
"It's true. I see how patient you are with them, how you listen to them, how you let them be themselves instead of trying to mold them into what you think they should be."
The compliment warmed my heart and I laid my head on his shoulder. "I learned from your mistakes."
"I'm glad one of us did."
We watched the mother and child for another moment, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
"I've been thinking about Duncan too," Dad said eventually. "About what kind of father he'll be to them."
"He's already a good father to them."
"I can see that. And I hate it."
The admission was so raw, so honest, that I lifted my head to stare at him. "What?"
"I hate that he's good with them. I hate that they light up when he walks in the room. I hate that he makes them laugh and that they trust him completely." He paused, his voice thick. "I hate it because it makes it harder for me to stay angry at him."
"You don't have to stay angry."
"Don't I? He broke his promise to me. He took advantage of your feelings for him."
"He didn't take advantage of anything. I pursued him, Dad. I was an adult, and I made a choice." Dad's anger was misplaced. Duncan had no effect on my choice that night. I had no feelings for him back then other than raw lust, but here we were today and better for it.
"A choice that cost you four years of your life."
"A choice that gave me the three most important people in my life."
He was quiet for a long moment, considering my words. "The truth is that I don't know if I can forgive him."
"You don't have to. But you're going to have to find a way to coexist with him, because he's not going anywhere. He's their father, and he's in my life now. That's not going to change."
"Are you sure about that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you sure he's not going to leave again? Are you sure he's not going to decide this is all too complicated and walk away?"
The question struck at my deepest fear, the one I'd been trying to ignore. "I'm not sure about anything. But I'm choosing to believe he won't."
"And if he does?"
"Then I'll deal with it. The same way I've been dealing with everything else."
Dad turned to look at me then, really look at me. "You're stronger than I gave you credit for."
"I had to be."
"I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that my trying to protect you made it so you had to protect yourself."
The apology broke something open inside me. Three years of carrying this secret, of feeling like I'd disappointed him, of believing I'd failed as a daughter—it all came pouring out in tears I couldn't control.
"I'm sorry too," I sobbed. "I'm sorry I was such a coward."
"You weren't a coward. You were scared."
"I was both."
He pulled me into his arms then, the first real hug we'd shared since the night he'd discovered the truth about Duncan. I buried my face in his shoulder and cried for everything we'd lost, everything we'd missed, everything we were trying to rebuild.
"I love you, Ivy," he whispered into my hair. "I've never stopped loving you."
"I love you too, Dad."
When I finally pulled back, we were both wiping tears from our faces.
"So where do we go from here?" I asked.
"I don't know. But I want to try. I want to fix things between us, and I want to find a way to accept Duncan in our lives."
"It's going to take time." I smiled through my tears. "And you're going to have to stop giving him death glares every time he comes to pick up the kids."
He laughed, the sound rusty but genuine. "I make no promises about that."
The triplets tackled me the moment I walked through the door, their squeals of excitement filling the entryway. I scooped up Elena while Sammy and Chrissy wrapped themselves around my legs, all of them talking at once about their morning adventures.
"Mama, Mama! Duncan made pancakes shaped like animals!"
"Mine was a elephant!"
"Mine was a dinosaur!"
"What was yours, Elena?" I asked, kissing her cheek.
"Circle," she said seriously, making me laugh.
I followed the scent of vanilla and butter into the kitchen, where I found Duncan standing at the stove, shirtless and flipping pancakes with the concentration of a surgeon. His hair was mussed from a rough day, and there was a smudge of batter on his shoulder.
"Good morning," I said, setting Elena in her high chair.
He turned to smile at me, and the warmth in his expression made my chest tight. "How did it go?"
"Better than I expected. He wants to try."
"That's good."
"He's still angry with you."
"I expected that," Duncan grumbled and I sense his disappointment.
"But he's willing to work on it. For the sake of the family."
Duncan nodded, turning back to the stove. "That's all I can ask for."
I moved to stand beside him, watching him pour batter into the pan. "You're getting good at this."
"I had good motivation to learn."
He flipped the pancake, revealing a lopsided butterfly shape that made me grin. "Very artistic."
"I'm branching out from circles."
The normalcy of the moment felt precious. Duncan cooking breakfast, the children chattering in the background, the warm kitchen filled with the scent of home. For the first time in weeks, the tension that had been coiled in my chest began to loosen.
Then Duncan's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and I watched his expression change completely. The easy contentment disappeared, replaced by something that looked almost like dread.
"I need to take this," he said, already moving toward the door.
"Duncan—"
But he was already walking out, pulling the door closed behind him. I heard the click of the lock, and my stomach dropped. He'd shut me out. Literally.
I moved closer to the door, straining to hear his voice through the wood. The tone was tense, frustrated, but I couldn't make out the words. Whatever Nick was saying, it was making Duncan upset. Very upset.
The easy peace I'd felt moments before evaporated. What secret was he keeping? What was so important that he couldn't let me hear it?
I stood there, staring at the closed door, while the children continued playing behind me. The pancakes began to burn on the stove, forgotten in the wake of whatever crisis was unfolding on the other side of that door.
And I wondered if Dad had been right to question whether Duncan would stay.