A millionaire bu/rie/d his wife. He was returning from the cemetery. By the gate sat an old woman. He gave her money. She took it, looked at him, and quietly asked, “And what will you say to your daughter?” He froze. He had no daughter…

Gregory stiffened. “How do you know who I am.”

“I know everything about you,” she said. “My daughter told me.”

“Your daughter,” Gregory repeated slowly.

“Yes. Lila. The girl from the summer you pretend to forget.”

His breath caught.

“She is gone,” Doris continued. “Cancer. Eight years ago. She left behind a child. Your child.”

Gregory closed his eyes. The world spun.

“A daughter,” he whispered.

Doris reached into a drawer and pulled out a worn photo album. She opened it to a page showing a small girl with pale hair and curious eyes.

Gregory stared. He recognized himself in that face.

“Her name is Kayla,” Doris said. “She does not know who her father is. Lila never told her. She said you were a good man who simply never knew.”

Gregory’s voice shook. “Where is she now.”

“She works at a children’s clinic,” Doris replied. “A nurse. She lives alone. She carries debt from trying to save her mother’s life. She is proud and stubborn. She will not accept pity.”

Gregory felt guilt, anger, and desperation collide inside him.

“I will help her,” he said. “I will fix everything.”

Doris shook her head.

“She does not need your money. She needs a father who stays. Are you ready to be that.”

Gregory had no answer.