Justin stared. The girl looked just like him—same cheekbones, same eyes, same easy smile. She clutched a Harvard diploma. Harvard. His daughter. A graduate from Harvard Law. Justin’s mouth went dry. His hands trembled on the mouse. He blinked, hoping he’d misread it. But the caption said it clearly: “Proud of my girl.”
He scrolled like a man possessed, eyes hungrily devouring every post, every tag. Lucy had raised all girls, all by herself. No mention of a stepfather. Just Lucy and her tribe of girls. Each of them is smiling. Thriving. The weight of his absence pressed down like a boulder.
The eldest twins ran a beloved bakery in Portland, their faces often seen in food magazines and morning shows. The second pair, once glued to each other’s hips, now helmed a tech startup in Austin—one a software engineer and other one a business consultant. The middle girls had become nurses, quietly saving lives in trauma units and pediatric wards.
The fourth set split between law and design—one defending women in courtrooms, the other sketching skylines. Two of the quadruplets had launched a wellness brand from their childhood bedroom. And the youngest of the girls? One led a school, the other counseled struggling teens. How had Lucy raised all 12 daughters by herself? He was in disbelief.