DAD, WHY DO THOSE KIDS LOOK LIKE ME—THE ANSWER CHANGED THE MILLIONAIRE'S LIFE

By the time spring arrived, the timber cottage in Kiama had developed its own rhythm.

The floorboards no longer felt cold to Liam; he and Ethan had finally moved into their timber beds in the loft. The small local school in Kiama had welcomed the twins, where their quiet intensity was slowly melting into the ordinary chaos of homework, footy practice, and beach runs.

However, a lingering shadow remained: Finn.

Although Bridget had agreed to weekend visitation under the terms of their divorce settlement, she maintained a strict, icy distance, ensuring that Finn was dropped off and picked up by a private chauffeur. The eight-year-old boy was caught in a quiet, heartbreaking limbo—living in a silent, grieving mansion in Vaucluse during the week with a mother consumed by social humiliation, and traveling down to a bustling coastal cottage on the weekends with a father he adored but barely understood.

One Saturday morning, the silver Mercedes chauffeur car pulled up the gravel driveway in Kiama.

Finn stepped out, holding his small overnight bag. His face was pale, and he looked smaller than usual in a crisp, expensive designer jacket that looked absurdly formal against the rustic backdrop of the ocean hills.

Alex walked down the porch steps to greet him, opening his arms for a hug. Finn stepped into the embrace, but his body was rigid.

"Hey, mate," Alex said gently, kneeling down to eye level. "How was the drive?"

"Fine," Finn said quietly, looking down at his clean leather sneakers. "Mum cried all morning before I left. She said... she said you replaced us."

Alex felt a sharp, cold blade twist in his heart. He took Finn’s small hands into his calloused palms.

"Finn, look at me," Alex commanded softly.

Finn looked up, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"No one in this world could ever replace you," Alex said, his voice thick with raw emotion. "What happened between your mother and me is because I made terrible, cowardly choices years ago. But you are my son. Nothing—no court, no distance, no mistake—will ever change that. Do you understand me?"

Finn swallowed hard, giving a tiny nod, though the doubt still hovered behind his eyes.

From the edge of the wraparound veranda, Liam and Ethan watched the interaction silently.

Liam, now thirteen and possessing a quiet emotional intelligence forged by hardship, looked at his younger half-brother. He recognized that look. It was the look of a child who felt like he didn't belong anywhere—the very feeling Liam had carried his entire life.

Liam walked down the steps, holding an old, scuffed footy under his arm.

He didn't say anything comforting. Instead, he dropped the ball at Finn’s clean sneakers and kicked it gently against his toe.

"Hey, city boy," Liam said, a small, challenging smirk touching his lips. "You gonna stand there crying in your hundred-dollar shoes, or are you gonna show us if you can actually catch a pass without your butler helping you?"

Finn blinked, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his expensive jacket. He looked at the scuffed leather ball, then up at Liam’s tall, athletic frame.

"I don't have a butler," Finn muttered, a tiny spark of indignation flashing in his eyes.

"Could’ve fooled me," Ethan chimed in, trotting down from the porch with a grin. "Come on, Finn. We built a fort down in the gully. But Liam says you’re too soft for the mud."

Finn’s chin lifted instantly—the same fierce, stubborn pride that Alex possessed. "I’m not soft!"

"Prove it," Liam called out, turning and sprinting down the green hill toward the rainforest treeline. "Last one to the river has to wash the dinner plates!"

Finn dropped his overnight bag onto the grass, completely forgetting his clean sneakers, and took off after his brothers at full speed, his laughter echoing across the lawn.

Alex stood by the veranda, watching the three boys vanish into the tall grass near the riverbank.

Elsie stepped out beside him, handing him a mug of coffee. "They’re going to be fine, Alex," she murmured, watching the distant figures of the three brothers jumping over a timber log. "Blood knows blood if you give it enough room to breathe."

That evening, the storm that had been brewing off the Tasman Sea finally hit the coast.

Violent wind lashed the timber cottage, and heavy rain drummed against the tin roof like a thousand tiny hammers. Inside, a fire roared in the large stone hearth, casting a warm, golden light across the living room floor.

After a massive dinner of roast chicken and potatoes cooked by Elsie, the three boys sat spread out on a large sheepskin rug before the fire.

Ethan was showing Finn how to carve small wooden boats from fallen cedar branches using a blunt safety knife, while Liam sat nearby, quietly helping Finn fix a broken wheel on one of his toy trucks.

Alex sat in the leather armchair behind them, pretending to read a book, but simply drinking in the sight.

Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder shook the cottage. The lights flickered twice and died completely, plunging the room into darkness save for the orange glow of the fireplace.

Finn gasped, instantly freezing, his small shoulders tensing in the dark.

Before Alex could move from his chair, Liam reached out through the shadows and laid his large, rough hand over Finn’s shoulder.

"It’s just the coast storm, Finn," Liam said, his voice entirely calm, steady, and protective. "We used to get storms like this in the old boarding house. As long as the fire’s burning, nothing gets inside."

Finn looked at his older brother in the firelight. Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. He leaned his body sideways until his shoulder was resting against Liam’s arm, pulling his blanket up over his knees.

"Can you tell me a story, Liam?" Finn asked softly in the quiet room. "About when you guys lived in the park?"

Liam paused, looking into the dancing flames of the hearth. He looked back at his father sitting in the chair, then down at Finn.

"It wasn't a good place, Finn," Liam said quietly. "It was cold, and people looked at us like we were trash. But every night, Ethan and I used to look up at the big glass towers downtown. We didn't know our dad lived in one of them. We just used to wonder if there was somebody up there who looked like us."

Liam looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Alex’s in the dim light.