A post from Leah read: “Some kids are raised on love. Some on absence. Both shape us.” Justin closed his eyes. Juliette had pinned a graduation picture with Lucy, captioned: “Every promise she made, she kept.” He flagged Leah with a shaky hand but dared not mark Juliette. The plane began its descent.
The wheels touched down in New York, but Justin barely noticed. His mind raced. Of all his girls, Lila seemed the kindest—the one most likely to listen. A nurse, empathetic and steady. If anyone would give him a chance, it had to be the daughter who healed others.
At the hospital where Lila worked, his palms sweated and his stomach churned. He didn’t mention who he was—only that he was an old friend wanting to speak to Lila Wilson. The receptionist nodded and asked him to wait. Justin sat clutching his coat, trying to steady the racing in his chest.
The wait stretched endlessly. Every second pulled tight like a stretched rubber band. Then she appeared—Lila, tall and confident in scrubs, walking toward him with a calm, polite smile. Justin’s chest tightened. His daughter. She looked so much like Lucy, it made his head spin.
“Hi,” Justin said, standing. “I’m Justin. Justin Smith.” Lila tilted her head, puzzled. “Hi, Justin. Do I know you?” Warmth was in her voice, but no recognition. That warmth cut deeper than contempt. Justin’s throat tightened. She didn’t know him. Of course she didn’t.
“I’m… your father,” he said. “I—left. A long time ago.” His words felt fragile, barely there. Lila blinked. Her face went blank. The silence hung heavy like a vacuum. “Why are you here?” she finally asked. Her voice was neutral, but her eyes thundered.
Justin hesitated, then exhaled deeply. “I’m sick,” he admitted. “Pancreatic necrosis. I need surgery, medication… I didn’t know who else to turn to.” He tried to soften the blow, to sound less like a burden. “I’ve thought about all of you over the years. How are they all?”
Lila sat slowly, listening with a stone face. But when Justin said he had nowhere else to turn, her patience snapped. She scoffed bitterly, “You had no one to turn to?”
“You think of us now, when your body’s falling apart?” Her voice rose, raw with emotion. “You left Mom with twelve children, Justin. Twelve girls under seven! No savings, no support, just a pathetic note. Do you have any idea how she managed all of that alone?”