He changed his number. He convinced himself she’d be fine. That leaving was easier—for both of them.
Six months later, his former housekeeper told him Isabella had given birth to a baby girl.
“She looks just like you,” the woman had said.
Daniel buried the words under work, ambition, and noise.
Five years passed.
On a cool April morning, he stepped out of his car at Bright Horizons, cameras already flashing.
He smiled, shook hands, posed for photos, and handed over the check to the director.
Then a small voice rang out.
“Dad!”
Everything stopped.
A little girl with wild curls ran toward him and wrapped her arms around his leg before anyone could react.
Silence fell over the crowd.
Daniel looked down and met her eyes—deep brown, familiar, unmistakable.
Behind her, an older woman rushed forward, shock etched across her face.
Isabella’s mother.
“Sofia, sweetheart, come here,” she said gently, reaching for the child.
But the girl only looked up at Daniel.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
His chest tightened, breath catching as emotions he’d buried for years surged all at once.
That night, alone in his penthouse, the city lights blurred through his window.