He looked at the glowing skyline—the one he’d built towers in—now nothing but a blur through the rain-soaked glass. He had no children, no partner, no one waiting for him. His only living relative was a nephew who cared more about inheritance than family.
And then, something outside the window made him sit up.
Four Small Figures Under a Storefront Awning
Near a luxury boutique, under its narrow awning, four tiny shapes huddled together.
Four girls, all shivering, soaked to the bone.
Four heads of blonde hair plastered to pale faces.
Four identical pairs of wide, frightened eyes.
Quadruplets.
The oldest—though only by minutes—spread her thin body like a shield, holding a torn piece of tarp above her sisters.
One of the youngest cried softly, so quietly that even through the closed car window, Grant felt the sound strike him like a blow.
It was not pity he felt.
It was recognition.
He had once been that child—alone, overlooked, hoping someone would choose him.
He couldn’t look away.
“Stop the car,” he ordered.
Dana spun around. “Mr. Aldridge—”
“Stop. The. Car.”
