Christmas morning was bright, cold, and white.

The helicopter rose above the Texas skyline with me and the four most important people in my world inside.

“Mama, are we really going to meet Grandpa today?” Logan asked, his eyes shining.

“And Grandma?” Chloe added.

I smiled gently. “Maybe.”

Across from me sat my four children in matching Christmas outfits.

Two boys. Two girls. Quadruplets. Eight years old. And every single one of them had Dominic’s eyes, Dominic’s smile, Dominic’s stubborn jaw. No one could look at them and miss the resemblance.

The irony was almost cruel.

The man who had run from fatherhood had four children waiting to meet him.

He just didn’t know it yet.