Vincent stared. The boy looked just like him—same cheekbones, same eyes, same easy smile. He clutched a Harvard diploma. Harvard. His son. A graduate from Harvard Law. Vincent’s mouth went dry. His hands trembled on the mouse. He blinked, hoping he’d misread it. But the caption said it clearly: “Proud of my boy.”
He scrolled like a man possessed, eyes hungrily devouring every post, every tag. Linda hadn’t just gone through with the pregnancy—she’d raised all seven. Septuplets. Alone. No mention of a stepfather. Just Linda and her tribe of children. Each of them is smiling. Thriving. The weight of his absence pressed down like a boulder.