The day I saw my ex-wife holding twin babies while I was dining with my new wife, my entire world stopped.

Ten minutes later, the soft sound of running water drifted from the second-floor bathroom.

I sat in the rocking chair by the living room window, holding six-month-old Leo in my arms.

He was tiny, warm, and smelled faintly of milk and lavender soap. He had woken up briefly when I picked him up, blinking his large, dark eyes at me. I had frozen, terrified that he would cry at the sight of a stranger, but he simply let out a soft sigh, nestled his small head against the lapel of my sweater, and closed his eyes again.

Tears welled up in my eyes, dripping unchecked down my cheeks, falling onto my dark sweater near his little shoulder.

I had spent years obsessing over having an heir—a child to carry the Moretti name, to inherit my business empire, to validate my status among Chicago’s elite. Yet holding this child, who carried none of my blood, born to a mother I had abandoned, I realized how twisted my priorities had been.

Children were not trophies. They were not corporate legacy assets. They were pure, fragile gifts of grace.

"You're holding him like he's made of thin glass," a quiet voice said.

I looked up. Natalie was standing at the edge of the room, towel-drying her wet hair. She was wearing warm flannel pajama pants and a simple grey t-shirt. She looked peaceful, devoid of the defensive posture she had worn for days.

"He feels like glass," I whispered, smiling through my tears. "I’m terrified I’m going to break him."

Natalie walked over, a gentle, genuine smile touching her lips—the first true smile she had given me in four years. She sat down on the rug near my chair, leaning her back against the side of the wooden rocking chair.

"He likes you," she said softly, watching her son sleep peacefully against my chest. "He usually whimpers with strangers. Dr. Mercer tried to hold him last week and Leo cried for twenty minutes."

"Julian Mercer is a good man," I said honestly, looking down at her. "Marcus told me he helped you get your studio space."

"He is," Natalie agreed. "When I moved back to Evanston two years ago, I was lost. Julian’s sister was one of my art therapy clients. He saw that I was struggling and helped me set up my freelance business. He’s been a great friend."

"Did you... did you ever think about dating again?" I asked cautiously, my heart sinking slightly at the thought.

Natalie looked out the window at the falling snow. "For a long time, the thought of trusting a man made me sick to my stomach. After what happened with us, I felt as though I was completely incapable of being loved for who I was. That’s why I chose IUI. I realized I didn't need a husband to have a family. I just wanted to pour my love into children who would never doubt that I wanted them."

Every word she spoke was a gentle, righteous indictment of my past actions, yet she spoke without bitterness now. She was simply stating her truth.

"I want to support them, Natalie," I said softly. "Not as a billionaire buying his way into your life. But as someone who wants to ensure they never face a single day of hardship. I want to set up an irrevocable educational trust for Leo and Clara."

Natalie turned her head, looking up at me. "Luca..."

"Listen to me," I begged quietly. "You don't have to give me anything in return. You don't have to take me back. You don't even have to let me visit. But let me do this. Let me know that the wealth I spent my life building is finally doing something good."

Natalie stared into my eyes, searching for any trace of the arrogant, controlling man I used to be. She found only a broken, repented heart.