Justin’s disbelief turned to something colder—calculation. Twelve children. All successful. Someone among them had to feel something—guilt, duty, pity. He didn’t deserve their help, but he needed it. The girls looked like him. That had to count for something. It was a long shot, but it was his only one.
He moved quickly, not out of courage, but necessity. He gathered the last crumpled bills from the drawer, maxed out what little was left on his card, and bought a one-way ticket to New York. Lucy might not want to see him, but surely one of his girls would give him a chance.
On the flight to New York, Justin’s fingers barely left his phone. He clicked through every profile again and again, reading captions, noting birthdays, job titles, cities. His plan was simple—find the softest heart, the easiest target. One of them had to care. One of them had to crack.
He made a folder in his notes app, listing names, jobs, snippets from posts. He was profiling his own children like strangers on the street. His oldest girls were just five years old when he had left them. They were practically strangers now. Only now, these strangers held the power to save his life—or let him rot.