Chapter 6 - First Steps as a Father
The transition from billionaire executive to father of five-year-old triplets did not happen in boardroom suits. It happened in my modest, sunlit four-bedroom craftsman home in the historic suburbs of Naperville, Illinois.
Garrett had offered, almost desperately, to buy us a ten-million-dollar estate in Lake Forest, or to move us into a penthouse in the Gold Coast with private security details. I had flatly refused.
“My children know this house,” I told him firmly over the phone. “They know the creaky third step. They know the treehouse in the backyard. You want to be in their lives, Garrett? You come to our world. We don't adapt to yours.”
To my shock, he didn't argue. He didn't even push back.
On Saturday morning, a sleek, understated black SUV pulled into my gravel driveway. Garrett stepped out wearing worn denim, a navy henley shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and running sneakers. He carried four massive cardboard boxes under his arms.
When I opened the front door, the smell of pancakes and bacon wafted out into the cool morning air.
“Permission to come aboard?” Garrett asked, offering a nervous, hopeful smile. He looked completely out of his element, and it was the most endearing thing I had seen in years.
“Depends on what’s in the boxes,” I teased, stepping aside.
“Presents?” Owen shouted, thundering down the wooden staircase in his dinosaur footie pajamas, followed closely by Leo and Wyatt.
“Not presents,” Garrett corrected, setting the boxes down in the center of the living room rug. “Lego Architecture series. Seven thousand pieces. Millennium Falcon.”
Leo’s eyes expanded until they took up half his face. “Seven *thousand*?”
“I said I’d build the biggest castle you’ve ever seen,” Garrett said, dropping to the floor and cross-legging himself without a second thought for his designer clothes. “Let’s start with a spaceship first.”
For the next four hours, I watched from the kitchen island, pretending to fold laundry while my heart steadily unraveled.
Garrett was astonishingly patient. When Owen accidentally knocked over the entire sub-frame of the ship’s engine, Garrett didn't sigh or show a flicker of frustration; he simply laughed, ruffled Owen’s wild curls, and said, “Good thing we’re certified master builders. We can rebuild it stronger.”
When Wyatt, who was perpetually shy, brought over his favorite tattered plush rabbit with a torn ear, Garrett took it with profound reverence, carefully examining the stitching and asking what the rabbit’s name was.
“Barnaby,” Wyatt whispered.
“Barnaby looks like a brave rabbit,” Garrett said solemnly. “Does Barnaby sleep near the window to guard against monsters?”
Wyatt nodded vigorously, and for the first time, crawled into Garrett’s lap, resting his small head against Garrett’s chest.
I saw the way Garrett’s breath caught. He froze, completely terrified of making a sudden movement that would break the spell. His large, calloused hand slowly rose and rested gently against Wyatt’s back, his eyes catching mine across the room.
There were tears in those gray eyes—pure, unadulterated gratitude.
At lunchtime, Garrett insisted on helping me make grilled cheese sandwiches. The kitchen was small compared to his estate’s commercial-grade facilities, meaning our shoulders brushed as he buttered the bread while I flipped the sandwiches on the skillet.
Every time our skin touched, an electric current crackled through the air, heavy with memory and unspent longing.
“You’re good with them,” I murmured, watching the cheddar sizzle.
“I’m terrified every single second,” Garrett confessed in a low voice, leaning against the counter beside me. “Every time they smile at me, I feel like an imposter who doesn't deserve it. I missed their first steps, Elena. I missed their first words. I missed five years of their lives.”
“They don't care about what you missed, Garrett,” I said softly, looking up into his eyes. “Children live in the present. They care that you’re sitting on the rug right now, stepping on plastic bricks without complaining.”
Garrett looked down at me, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. His expression was so intense it made my breath hitch.
“I missed you, too,” he whispered. “Every day for five years. Even when I was angry, even when I thought you had walked away without looking back... there was never a day I didn't look at the empty side of my bed and hate myself for letting you go.”
Before I could answer, the sharp ring of Garrett’s phone shattered the moment.
He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the caller ID. “It’s Richard.”
He answered, putting it on speaker as he stepped toward the dining table. “Richard, I told you I’m off the grid today.”
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“Garrett, you need to turn on the news,” Richard’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and grim. “Vivian held a press conference outside the Drake Hotel twenty minutes ago. She’s gone completely rogue.”
***
