His heart tightened with guilt. He had been so consumed with building his empire, securing their future, and ensuring they lacked for nothing material that he hadn’t realized they craved something money could never buy. Rosa had stepped into that void, filling it with tenderness, patience, and warmth.
In that moment, Adrian remembered his late wife, Clara. She had always reminded him that children needed presence more than presents. He had nodded back then, promising he would always be there for Ethan and Lily, but after her death, he had buried himself in work to avoid facing his grief.
Standing in the doorway now, he felt Clara’s words echo in his ears, as though her spirit was reminding him that love is found in the smallest, simplest acts. Adrian didn’t enter right away. He stayed hidden, letting the sight sink deep into him.
Ethan was recounting how he had accidentally spilled flour all over the countertop, and Lily laughed so hard she could barely breathe. Rosa joined in, her smile radiant, her laugh soft yet full of life. It wasn’t just cake — it was healing, it was love, it was everything Adrian had been too blind to see.
Finally, unable to hold back his tears, he stepped forward. His sudden presence startled everyone. The children turned, their laughter shifting into curiosity, while Rosa straightened nervously, wiping her hands on her apron.
For a moment, Adrian couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, his vision blurred. Then, with a trembling but sincere voice, he simply said: “Thank you.”
Rosa blinked, unsure what he meant, but Adrian’s children understood. They ran to him, hugging him tightly, their voices bubbling with emotion as they tried to explain everything that had happened. He knelt, embracing them fiercely as tears streamed down his face.
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