The dry, brittle leaves crunched under Jordan Fox’s boots as he pushed the baby stroller through the gates of the Manhattan cemetery. The wind howled through the towering trees, carrying the faint scent of half-burnt candles and wilted flowers. His heart pounded as he made his way toward Kyra’s grave. Today marked a year since she had passed, and the weight of her absence was heavier than ever.
“We’re going to see Mama,” Jordan whispered, adjusting Alan, one of his triplets, on his hip. The chubby baby let out a giggle, his tiny fingers grasping his father’s collar. The other two, Eric and Stan, lay in the stroller, their wide eyes following the dragonflies dancing in the air.
As he reached the grave, Jordan froze. A man stood there, brushing his fingers across the tombstone. He was in his late fifties, his face lined with experience and time. The stranger adjusted his Irish cap and made the sign of the cross before turning around. His lips curled into a smirk as his eyes landed on Jordan and the babies.
“Ah, Mr. Fox. Right on time,” the man said, his voice eerily calm.
Jordan narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
The stranger stretched out a hand but quickly withdrew it when his gaze landed on the babies. His face shifted, as though he had been caught off guard.
“I’m Denis…from Chicago. An old friend of Kyra’s,” he said smoothly.
Jordan frowned. Kyra had never mentioned a Denis from Chicago.
“I knew you’d be here today,” Denis continued. “That’s why I was waiting. I needed to talk to you about something important.”
Something about this man unsettled Jordan. He held Alan a little tighter and glanced toward the stroller protectively.
Denis took a step closer. “May I see the babies?”
Jordan hesitated. He didn’t like the way Denis was looking at them, the way his eyes softened with something close to longing. Still, before he could answer, Denis leaned over the stroller.
“They’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Chestnut hair, big lashes—just like I had when I was little.”
Then, he looked Jordan dead in the eyes and said the unthinkable.
“Mr. Fox, I’m the boys’ real father. I’ve come to take them.”
Jordan’s body stiffened. His grip on Alan tightened.
“Excuse me?” His voice was sharp, disbelieving.
“I know it’s hard to hear, but those babies…they’re mine.”
Jordan’s vision blurred with rage. His first instinct was to punch the man, but he held himself back.
“Get away from me before I call the cops.”
Denis didn’t move. Instead, he continued. “Kyra and I…we had a past. A mistake I made back then still haunts me. But I’m ready to correct it.” He took a deep breath before making an offer Jordan never expected.
“I’ll give you $100,000,” Denis said. “Or more if you want. Take the money and give me the babies.”
Jordan’s stomach twisted. “You think you can buy them? Like they’re objects?”
“It’s not like that,” Denis said quickly. “I know you’ve been raising them, and I respect that. But you’re young, Mr. Fox. You have your whole life ahead of you. You shouldn’t waste your youth raising kids who aren’t even yours.”
Jordan’s heart pounded. The words stung more than he wanted to admit. But his rage overshadowed the hurt.
“Stay away from my children,” he snarled. “I don’t care what story you have. I don’t care what you think you know. They’re mine.”
Denis sighed. “You need time to think about it. Here.” He pulled out a card and tucked it into Jordan’s hand. “Call me when you’re ready.”
Then, he turned and walked away, leaving Jordan trembling in fury and disbelief.
That night, Jordan tried to go about his usual routine, but Denis’s words echoed in his mind. The burn scar on Kyra’s thigh. The peanut allergy. The love for French cuisine. How did Denis know all of it?
He remembered the first time he met Kyra. The way she laughed at the bar, the way she cried after her ex-boyfriend broke her heart. He remembered how quickly she’d told him she was pregnant, how she had never spoken of her family.
Had it all been a lie?
His hands trembled as he fed the babies, bathed them, and rocked them to sleep. Could he still love them the same way knowing they weren’t his? Could he raise them without resentment?
The next night, he sat at the kitchen table, staring at Denis’s card. Before he knew it, his fingers had dialed the number.
Denis answered instantly. “Mr. Fox. I was waiting for your call.”
Jordan’s throat tightened. “I can’t give them to you.”
Silence.
“I don’t care whose blood runs in their veins,” Jordan continued, his voice steadier now. “A real father is the one who raises his children. Not the one who makes them. I won’t trade their love for your money.”
Denis exhaled. “I see,” he said quietly. Then, after a pause: “Can we meet one last time? There’s something you still don’t know.”
The next evening, Denis arrived with a small, worn photo in his hands. His eyes glistened as he handed it to Jordan.
Jordan’s breath hitched. It was Kyra. Younger, smiling…standing next to Denis.
“She was my daughter,” Denis whispered. “I’m not the father of those babies. I’m their grandfather.”
Jordan stared in disbelief.
“I was a terrible father,” Denis admitted. “When my wife died, I raised Kyra alone. I gave her everything but didn’t give her what she needed most—love and understanding. She got lost in addiction, and when I tried to force her into rehab, she ran away. I never looked for her. I thought she’d come back, but she never did.”
Jordan clenched his jaw. “She told me her parents were dead.”
Denis nodded sadly. “I deserved that.” He wiped his eyes. “I didn’t even know she had children until I ran into one of her old friends in Chicago.”
Jordan took a deep breath. He had been so angry, so ready to hate Kyra. But now, he just felt sorrow.
Denis looked up, his eyes pleading. “I don’t want to take them from you anymore, Mr. Fox. I just want to be in their lives. To be a grandfather. To be better.”
Jordan stared at him for a long moment. Then, he did something unexpected. He pulled Denis into a hug.
From that day on, Denis became part of their family. He spent his days spoiling the babies, making up for lost time. And Jordan? He never looked back. He knew now—blood didn’t make a father.
Love did.
