One son was a contractor, standing proudly in front of a site with “McIntyre Builders” on the board. Another, an engineer, posted blueprints and code. A daughter ran her own esthetic spa. The others were a nurse, a consultant, and a businesswoman. Seven lives, full and burning bright. Seven lives he’d never touched.
Vincent felt sick with awe and shame. How had she done it? How had she taken the wreckage he left behind and turned it into something this… beautiful? He rubbed his face, heart racing. These weren’t strangers. These were his children. Flesh and blood. And he’d never even learned their names.