Four Years Later.

The school bell rang as I parked my car. Finishing my iced Americano, I stepped out into the school driveway. Other parents were leaving, along with housekeepers, nannies, chauffeurs, and assistants. The school was bustling—typical for this excellent kindergarten, where many working parents couldn't pick up their children.

I felt fortunate to work from home, giving my children the time and attention they needed while still providing for our family. My career as a weather content creator and article writer had taken off unexpectedly, quickly filling my bank account. I was heavily pregnant with quadruplets when my first thousand-dollar payment arrived. This was a huge relief; even the generous anonymous gift I'd received years earlier wouldn't have covered raising three sons and a daughter for four years. My steady income, however, ensured their future.

"Mommy!" a tiny voice shrieked.

I smiled, spotting my daughter, Tyris, running toward me, her ponytail flying. Her brothers followed close behind, grinning. My heart swelled as I crouched, arms open.

"My babies! How was your day?!" I laughed as they tumbled into my embrace.

I kissed their heads as they chattered about their classmates. Reon, my eldest, was already gathering their lunchboxes; Royer, my third, tried to help.

I buckled them into the car, Tyris and Torin, my second and youngest, continuing their excited chatter. As I pulled away from the curb, I asked, "So, what else happened at school today? What did you learn?"

"Oh, I'll tell you, I'll tell you!" Tyris bounced in her seat. "Mom! Our teacher taught us about family trees! And all our friends have two parents, but we only have one!"

She pouted. Looking at her in the rearview mirror, I noticed how much she resembled my grandmother as she grew older. Since I was adopted into the Manor family, it was impossible for her to share their genes, yet the resemblance was uncanny. Initially, I dismissed it as grief playing tricks on me, but the likeness persisted. I still saw Monica Manor in Tyris.

"Has our dad forgotten about us? Does he not love us, is that why he's not here?" Royer's timid voice whispered from his seat.

His sadness pierced my heart. I glanced back at him. "Your father loves you very much, and he will never forget you. You are all beautiful angels."

"So when are we going to see him, Mom?" Torin asked assertively. "You said he went someplace very far, and he'll come back soon, right?"

"Yes, honey, you'll see him soon," I whispered, forcing a smile. "Don't worry, my babies. Everything will be okay."

Reon stared intently at me, then addressed his siblings. "That's enough. Let Mom focus on driving."

"He's right, Mom's a great driver," I smiled at Reon, who was his father's spitting image. Sometimes, seeing his likeness caused a painful pang in my heart. It was unfair to my sons to be judged by their father's actions. Reon, in particular, was already so stoic and responsible for his age, often worrying about adult concerns. I constantly reminded him he was still a child, but he insisted on shouldering responsibility. It worried me deeply.

We arrived home, and the children rushed toward the elevator.

"Wait, you can't use the elevator alone, Torin!" I called, catching them.

"Sorry, Mommy."

Once inside our apartment, I checked my work emails. Instead, I found numerous headlines about the Manor Company.

'THE MANOR COMPANY SUED FOR FRAUDULENT TAX EVASION!' 'Raymond Manor, CEO of The Manor Company, EXPOSED by designated auditor for embezzlement' ' following the skirmishes within the multimillion company, Manor’s shares have plummeted by 42%..'

"This can't be true," I gasped, horrified. This was the company my grandmother had worked so hard to build and protect until her death.

I knew this greedy family would destroy it. I was the only one who shared Grandma's vision, so they'd gladly declared me dead to be rid of me.

"Mommy!" Tyris called from a bedroom.

I took a deep breath, tossing my phone aside. "Yes, baby, I'm coming."

That night, after tucking my children into bed, I checked my mail. Among the usual correspondence, an unmarked envelope caught my eye. A folded paper inside fell from my trembling hands when I opened it. It was my grandmother's handwriting—a style ingrained in my memory. She always hand-wrote important letters.

Gathering my strength, I unfolded the letter. The familiar cursive brought tears to my eyes. The words at the top read: 'OFFICIAL WILL OF MONICA MANOR.'

My lips trembled. But I was truly unprepared for what I read next—my name, written first, in bold, and with love. I sobbed uncontrollably, overwhelmed with realization.