A poor little girl offers a painting to a young billionaire. “My mom made this before she died. Please… buy it. I need money to feed my little siblings.” But when he sees the signature in the corner, he starts to cry.
The icy wind whipped across Thomas’s face as he stepped out of the towering steel-and-glass building that housed his office in the heart of a bustling American city.
He adjusted his cashmere scarf and buttoned up his expensive coat, but the chill he felt came from more than just the brutal winter on the streets.
“Another day, another few million,” he muttered with no trace of joy.
At 35, Thomas Black had everything most people dream of — a massive fortune built in the financial world, a penthouse, luxury cars… everything except something that actually mattered.
Success had left only ashes behind.
He glanced at his watch, a limited-edition model only a few in the world could afford, and walked on. Another empty night awaited. Maybe a drink at the hotel bar next door, maybe just the silence of his apartment. The routine never changed.
Then he saw her.
Amid the crowded sidewalk, where busy workers rushed past glued to their phones, a small figure stood out — a little girl, no older than five, shivering from the cold.
She was barefoot despite the freezing weather and holding something in her hands. A painting.
Thomas would’ve walked right past her like everyone else — if not for the strange pull that made him stop.
She had dark, curly hair and large eyes that seemed to carry more knowledge of life than any child should.
“Would you like to buy this, sir? It’s very pretty.”
Her voice was soft, but steady.
People kept walking past, not even glancing at her.
Thomas stepped closer, more out of curiosity than compassion.
“What are you selling?”
The girl turned the painting around.
It was a simple picture of sunflowers… yet strangely vibrant.
It wasn’t a child’s work — it had real technique, real emotion.
“My mom painted it,” she said. “She was an artist.”
Thomas looked at the signature in the corner — and his heart nearly stopped.
Olivia Carter.
The name hit him like a punch to the gut.
Olivia — the woman he had loved, then abandoned five years ago, when her existence started getting in the way of his rising career.
“Was your mom’s name Olivia?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.
The girl nodded. Her eyes — so much like Olivia’s — locked onto his.
“She passed away two months ago.”
The words were plain and direct, the way only a child could say them, but they landed with a weight that staggered Thomas.
She was gone. Olivia was gone.
“I need to sell this painting to buy food,” the girl continued.
“Lily and Noah are hungry.”
“Who are Lily and Noah?” Thomas asked.
“My siblings. Lily is four, and Noah is two. I’m Estella. I take care of them.”
Thomas did the math in his head.
Five years exactly — the time since he had left Olivia.
And now this little girl… with the same eyes, the same face shape…
“Where do you live, Estella?” he asked gently.
The girl hesitated.
“I can’t talk to strangers.”
Thomas knelt to meet her gaze. Up close, the resemblance to Olivia was even more striking.
“I’m interested in your mom’s painting. I can buy it… but I need to know more.”
He paused.
“And maybe… I can help you and your siblings.”
Estella studied him with unsettling intensity for someone so young.
Her bare feet were red from the cold, and Thomas noticed her thin coat was torn in several places.
“Five dollars,” she finally said.
Thomas reached into his wallet and pulled out every bill he had — several hundred dollars.
“Is this enough?”
Estella’s eyes went wide.
“That’s a lot of money…”
“The painting is worth every cent,” Thomas said. He wasn’t lying — to him, at that moment, it was worth far more.
Estella took the money carefully, as if afraid he might change his mind. Then, in a gesture that shattered Thomas’s heart, she slipped the bills into her broken shoe, which she kept in a plastic bag.
“Can I come with you to your house?” Thomas asked.
“To meet your siblings.”
Again, a flicker of hesitation.
“Why?”
Thomas searched for words. How could he explain?
“Because… I think I might be your father. Because I left your mother when she needed me most. Because I need to make things right. Because… I care about you.”
After a silence that felt like eternity, Estella nodded.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “But it’s far.”
“We can take a taxi.”
“What’s a taxi?”
The innocent question was yet another revelation for Thomas.
This child had never experienced even the most basic things most people took for granted.
Inside the taxi, Estella sat upright, staring out the window in fascination.
She clutched the money like it was her only lifeline.
Thomas watched her profile, noticing every resemblance to Olivia — and some features that might even be his.
“Did your mom ever talk about your dad?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Estella didn’t take her eyes off the window.
“She said he left before I was born. That he had important things to do.”
The words stabbed Thomas like a knife.
They were the exact words he had once told Olivia when he ended their relationship:
“I have important things to do. Dreams to chase. I can’t be tied down right now.”
“She was sad,” Estella added.
The question escaped Thomas before he could stop himself.
“Did she cry?”
Estella shrugged — a gesture that seemed far too grown-up for someone her age.
“Sometimes. When she looked at old pictures.
But she said she had the three of us, so it didn’t matter.”
The three of them.
Olivia had built a family on her own.
The taxi entered a neighborhood Thomas had never stepped foot in — far from the city’s luxurious districts.
Narrow streets. Crumbling buildings. Cracked sidewalks.
A world entirely different from his.
“Here,” Estella said, pointing to a three-story building with peeling paint and broken windows.
Thomas paid the driver — who looked eager to leave — and followed the girl to the entrance.
There was no elevator, only a staircase with broken steps.
They climbed three floors.
The smell of mildew and dampness grew stronger with each step.
In a dim hallway, Estella stopped in front of a door with no number — just faint marks where nails had once been.
She pulled a key from her coat and struggled with the lock.
“I’m back,” she called as the door opened.
“I brought a man who bought Mom’s painting.”
Thomas stepped inside and froze.
The apartment — if it could even be called that — was just a single room with a tiny area pretending to be a kitchen.
The wallpaper was peeling.
The walls were stained with damp. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting a faint glow over the space. In the middle of the floor, on a thin mattress, sat a blonde girl trying to soothe a crying baby. Both were skinny, wearing old clothes that were far too big for them.
“Estella, he won’t stop crying,” the girl — Lily — said in a small, worried voice. “I think he’s really hungry.”
The baby, Noah, was sobbing, his face red from the effort. Even from across the room, Thomas could hear the growling of his empty stomach.
Estella rushed over to them, pulling the money from her shoe.
“Look, Lily! I sold Mom’s painting. Now we can buy food!”
Lily stared at the money in amazement, then looked at Thomas with suspicion, clutching Noah tighter as if to protect him.
Thomas stood by the door, frozen, unable to process the scene.
Those children — likely his own — were living in misery while he dined in Michelin-starred restaurants and slept on silk sheets.
“Do you live here alone?” he asked in a whisper.
Estella nodded as she carefully arranged the bills into a cardboard box they used as a table.
“Since Mom got sick and never came back from the hospital, no grown-up has taken care of us. No family either.
Mom said she had a sister, but they didn’t talk. And she lives far away.”
She spoke while opening a nearly empty cupboard, which held only a few cans of food.
“Mom taught me how to make porridge for Noah and how to take care of Lily.”
Thomas felt dizzy.
A five-year-old child responsible for two younger siblings — alone in this unhealthy place, starving.
“Who is he, Estella?” Lily asked, still holding Noah protectively.
“He bought Mom’s painting. He gave us a lot of money.”
Lily looked at him with tired, cautious eyes.
“Did you know our mom?”
The direct question made Thomas hesitate.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. “A long time ago.”
Noah’s cries were getting louder.
Thomas looked around, taking in every gloomy detail of the apartment.
Besides the single mattress on the floor, there were only a few thin blankets, a cardboard box used as a table, and a smaller one as a chair.
Leaning against the wall were several paintings — all of sunflowers, apparently Olivia’s last works.
There were also photos taped to the wall — showing a thinner Olivia than he remembered, but with the same captivating smile, holding all three children in her arms.
“Estella, you need to eat right now, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded while trying to calm Noah in her arms.
“Is there a grocery store nearby?”
“At the corner,” she said.
“But sometimes the man doesn’t let me in. He says kids come in alone to steal.”
Every word was like a stab to the chest.
Thomas pulled more money from his wallet.
“I’ll buy you food. What should I get?”
Estella thought for a moment.
“Milk for Noah, bread, and vegetable soup. If they have it. Lily likes it.”
Thomas looked at the three children, his heart filled with a mix of compassion and guilt.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.”
He rushed out of the apartment, nearly running down the stairs.
Outside, he paused for a moment to catch his breath, trying to steady the dizziness that was overtaking him.
The guilt was overwhelming.
At the small corner store, Thomas filled two baskets — milk, bread, fruit, vegetables, meat, cereal, cookies.
He also bought diapers for Noah and some basic hygiene items.
At the checkout, it felt like a surreal nightmare.
On any other day, he never even looked at prices or thought twice about what he bought — but now, every item felt crucial.
“I live here now,” he thought, as a new sense of resolve hardened in his chest.
Once again, that familiar flicker of hesitation returned.
“Why?”
Thomas searched for the words.
How could he possibly explain it?
“Because I think I might be your father.
Because I left your mother when she needed me the most.
Because I feel like I need to fix this.
Because I’m worried about you.”
After a moment that felt like an eternity, Estella nodded.
“It’s okay… but it’s far. We can take a taxi.”
“What’s a taxi?”
The innocent question hit Thomas like another revelation.
This child had never experienced even the most ordinary things most people took for granted.
In the taxi, Estella sat upright, staring out the window in fascination.
She clung to the money as if it were her only lifeline.
Thomas watched her profile, noticing every resemblance to Olivia — and a few features that might be his.
“Did your mom ever talk about your dad?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Estella didn’t take her eyes off the window.
“She said he left before I was born. That he had important things to do.”
The answer cut through Thomas like a knife.
Those were the exact words he had once said to Olivia when he ended their relationship.
“I have important things to do, dreams to chase. I can’t be tied down right now.”
“She was sad,” Estella added.
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
“Did she cry?”
Estella shrugged — an oddly adult gesture.
“Sometimes. When she looked at old pictures.
But she said she had the three of us, so it didn’t matter.”
The three of them.
Olivia had built a family entirely on her own.
The taxi entered a neighborhood Thomas had never stepped foot in — far from the city’s exclusive zones.
Narrow streets, crumbling buildings, cracked sidewalks — a world completely unlike his own.
“Here,” Estella said, pointing to a three-story building with peeling paint and broken windows.
Thomas paid the driver — who looked eager to drive away — and followed the girl to the entrance.
There was no elevator, only a stairway with broken steps.
They climbed three floors.
The smell of mold and dampness grew stronger with every step.
In the dark hallway, Estella stopped in front of a door with no number — only faint marks where nails had once been.
She pulled a key from her coat and struggled to open the door.
“I’m back,” she called out as they entered.
“I brought a man who bought Mom’s painting.”
Thomas walked in behind her — and froze.
The apartment, if it could even be called that, was just a single room with a tiny space functioning as a kitchen.
The wallpaper was peeling off. The walls were stained with damp. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light across the space. In the middle of the floor, on a thin mattress, sat a blonde girl trying to soothe a crying baby. Both were thin and wore old, oversized clothes.
“He won’t stop crying,” said the girl — Lily — her small voice full of worry. “I think he’s really hungry.”
Little Noah sobbed, his face red from crying so much. Even from a distance, Thomas could hear the growling of his empty stomach.
Estella ran toward them, pulling the money from her shoe.
“Look, Lily! I sold Mom’s painting. Now we can buy food!”
Lily stared at the money in amazement, then looked at Thomas with suspicion, hugging Noah tighter as if to shield him.
Thomas stood by the door, unable to process the scene.
Those children — likely his own — were living in poverty, while he dined in Michelin-starred restaurants and slept on silk sheets.
“Do you live here alone?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
Estella nodded as she organized the bills into a cardboard box that served as a table.
“Since Mom got sick and never came back from the hospital, no grown-up has taken care of us. No family.
Mom said she had a sister, but they didn’t speak… and she lives far away.”
She spoke while opening an almost-empty cupboard that held only a few cans of food.
“Mom taught me how to make porridge for Noah and take care of Lily.”
Thomas felt dizzy — a five-year-old responsible for two younger children, alone in an unhealthy place and going hungry.
“Who is he, Estella?” Lily asked without letting go of Noah.
“He bought Mom’s painting. He gave us a lot of money.”
Lily stared at him with tired eyes.
“Did you know our mom?”
The direct question made Thomas hesitate.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. “A long time ago.”
Noah’s crying grew louder.
Thomas looked around, taking in every somber detail of the apartment.
Besides the thin mattress on the floor, there were only a few flimsy blankets, a cardboard box as a table, and a smaller one as a chair.
Leaning against the wall were several paintings — all of sunflowers — apparently Olivia’s final works.
There were also photos taped to the wall, showing a thinner Olivia than Thomas remembered, but with the same captivating smile, holding all three children.
“Estella, you need to eat now, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded while trying to calm Noah in her arms.
“Is there a grocery store nearby?”
“It’s on the corner,” she said,
“but sometimes the man doesn’t let me in… he says kids come in alone to steal.”
Every word was like a stab to the chest.
Thomas took out more money from his wallet.
“I’m going to buy you food. What should I get?”
Estella thought for a moment.
“Milk for Noah. Bread. And vegetable soup. If they have it. Lily likes it.”
Thomas looked at the three children with a mix of compassion and guilt.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.”
He rushed out of the apartment, nearly running down the stairs.
Outside, he stopped for a moment to breathe, trying to calm the dizziness that overwhelmed him.
The guilt was consuming him.
At the small corner store, Thomas filled two baskets with food — milk, bread, fruit, vegetables, meat, cereal, and cookies.
He also bought diapers for Noah and some basic hygiene products.
At the checkout, it felt like a strange dream.
On a normal day, he wouldn’t bother looking at prices or worrying about what he bought — but now, every item felt essential.
He explained to the curious cashier, who eyed the simple purchases of the well-dressed man.
“I’ll be coming by more often.”
Back at the building, Thomas climbed the stairs with the bags.
He knocked gently, and Estella opened the door almost instantly — as if she’d been waiting right there.
“You really came back,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.
Thomas entered and began unloading the bags.
Lily watched wide-eyed, still holding Noah, who was crying — but now more weakly, as if exhaustion had finally caught up with him.
“I brought milk for Noah,” Thomas said, pulling out the bottle.
“And food for all of you.”
Estella took the milk and quickly began preparing a bottle, moving with a surprising efficiency for a child her age.
Thomas noticed how she knew exactly what to do — warming the milk on a small shaky burner, testing it on her hand, then filling the bottle.
“Come on, Noah,” she said, taking the baby from Lily’s arms.
“Time to eat.”
The little one clung to the bottle hungrily, sucking so hard that Thomas feared he might choke.
“Easy, Noah,” Estella said softly, her voice full of gentle care.
“There’s plenty!”
Thomas watched in awe at Estella’s maturity.
It was clear she had taken on the role of caregiver — likely even before Olivia’s passing.
“Are you hungry, Lily?” he asked, offering her a pack of cookies.
The little girl nodded timidly but didn’t move.
Thomas opened the package and handed her one, which she took cautiously, as if afraid it might be a trick.
“You can have more,” he encouraged her. “I brought plenty.”
While Lily ate and Noah drank his milk, Thomas began organizing the groceries he had brought.
He found a bit of space in the nearly empty pantry and carefully stacked the cans and packages.
He placed the perishable items in a small fridge that “only works sometimes,” Estella explained.
With Noah calmer and Lily eating, Thomas took a moment to observe the children more closely.
Lily was blonde, with delicate features that resembled neither Olivia nor himself.
Noah had light brown hair and big eyes, with no obvious resemblance either.
But Estella… Estella was different.
Her dark curls, her deep eyes, even the way she furrowed her brow when concentrating — all reminded him of Olivia.
But there was something else too.
Something Thomas recognized from his own family photos:
The shape of her chin, her small but defined nose — features of the Black family.
The more he looked, the more certain he became.
Estella was his daughter.
“Sir?” Estella’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Are you okay?”
Thomas blinked, realizing his eyes were wet.
“Yes, I’m okay. And you can call me Thomas,” he added.
“How did you know my mom?”
The question hung in the air, full of possibilities.
Thomas looked at the three children.
Noah was asleep in Estella’s arms, exhausted after eating.
Lily watched silently, still nibbling her cookie.
“We were friends,” he finally said.
A half-truth that hurt to say aloud.
“A long time ago.”
“She never mentioned you,” Estella said, frowning.
“It was a long time ago,” Thomas repeated. “Before you were born.”
Estella seemed to accept the explanation.
“Thank you for the food.”
Thomas looked out the window and realized night had fallen.
The thought of leaving the three children alone in that apartment was unbearable.
“Estella, you can’t stay here alone,” he finally said, voicing the thought that had haunted him since entering.
“We always do,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Mom taught us.”
“But it’s not safe. You’re too young.”
Estella looked at Lily, then at Noah sleeping in her arms.
For a moment, Thomas caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes —
Fear that he might take them away.
Fear of losing the only family she had left.
“I’m not going to separate you,” Thomas assured her, guessing her thoughts.
“But I need to help. You need an adult.”
“What are you going to do?”
Estella’s small voice finally betrayed her age — no longer the grown-up caretaker but the little girl she truly was.
Thomas didn’t have a clear answer.
He just knew he couldn’t turn his back on these kids —
One of them likely his daughter — who desperately needed him.
“First, I’ll make you dinner,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
“Then we’ll talk about how I can help you — for good.”
Estella nodded, momentarily relieved to have an adult taking charge — even if just for now.
As Thomas moved around the narrow kitchen, preparing a simple meal from the groceries he’d brought, a sense of resolve began to grow in him.
These children were now his responsibility.
Whether they were all biologically his or not didn’t matter.
He couldn’t abandon them.
He glanced back at Estella, who was now gently laying Noah on the mattress so he could keep sleeping.
At just five years old, she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
A surge of determination swept through Thomas.
He would fix this.
He couldn’t change the past or bring Olivia back —
but at the very least, he could give these children a future.
And maybe, in doing so, he would finally find what was missing in his own life —
a purpose beyond money and hollow success.
Thomas left the children’s apartment well past 9 p.m.
Noah had fallen asleep after dinner.
Lily struggled to keep her eyes open as Estella carefully stored the remaining groceries.
He promised to return in the morning —
and the hopeful look in Stella’s eyes followed him all the way home.
Sitting in his luxury car, Thomas pulled out his phone.
It was past 10 p.m., but he knew Marcus would answer.
His personal lawyer was known for always being available —
especially when the call came with plenty of zeroes.
Marco Thomas Black.
“Thomas, what a surprise! Are you having issues with the London acquisition?”
“No, it’s not business,” Thomas replied, taking a deep breath. “It’s personal. I need your advice on a complicated situation.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
In all their years of working together, Thomas had never called Marcus for anything personal.
“I’m listening,” said the lawyer.
Thomas told him everything — his encounter with Estella, recognizing Olivia’s name, finding the three children living alone, and his suspicion that Estella might be his daughter.
“Wait, are you telling me there are three children? One of them possibly your biological daughter? Living alone without adult supervision? And the mother died two months ago?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do legally?”
“First, you need to confirm paternity,” Marcus advised. “I recommend a DNA test for the eldest girl, Estella. If she’s yours, you have natural rights — and responsibilities.”
“And what about the other two?”
“That’s more complicated. If they’re not biologically yours, you don’t have automatic rights. But if there are no other relatives, you could petition for temporary custody while we look for a permanent solution.”
Thomas felt the full weight of the situation.
“And if I want to help them?”
Another pause. Thomas could imagine Marcus’s surprise.
“Well… biological connection is usually the deciding factor — unless… unless no other family members come forward for Lily and Noah. In that case, as Estella’s legal guardian, and if no one else steps up for the others, you could request temporary custody of them too. But it’s a complicated process.”
“How long will the DNA confirmation take?”
“With my contacts, I can get results in 48 hours.”
“Do it. I’ll collect a sample tomorrow.”
As he hung up, Thomas realized he was making decisions that would change his life forever.
Less than 24 hours ago, his biggest concern was market volatility.
Now he was thinking about DNA tests, child custody, and how to help three little ones he barely knew.
Back in his luxury apartment, Thomas felt out of place.
The 3,000-square-foot space, decorated by a top designer, now felt cold and lifeless compared to the tiny, rundown flat he had just left.
Despite all its hardships, that place had life — Estella, Lily, and Noah.
Thomas tossed his expensive coat onto the couch and poured himself a whiskey.
He needed to think.
His mind drifted back to Olivia.
What had it been like for her — pregnant and abandoned?
How did she raise three kids practically on her own?
And most importantly: how had he never known?
How had he never cared enough to find out?
The answer was simple — and painful.
Because he hadn’t cared enough.
Olivia had become just a distant memory, a closed chapter on his path to financial success.
Thomas barely slept that night.
By 6 a.m., he was already up, making lists.
He left early, determined to buy everything the children might need from a department store that had just opened.
Thomas filled several carts — warm blankets, pillows, towels, clothes for the three children in sizes he hoped would fit.
He also bought toys: dolls for the girls, cars for Noah, building blocks, and colorful books.
In the hygiene section, he picked up soap, shampoo, toothbrushes, and diapers.
“Shopping for your nieces and nephews?” asked the cashier with a smile, noticing the mountain of children’s items.
Thomas hesitated a second. “Something like that,” he said, paying without even looking at the total.
He then stopped at a grocery store and bought supplies for several days — fruits, vegetables, meat, cereal, milk, juices.
He remembered Estella’s mentions: vegetable soup for Lily, special milk for Noah.
Driving back to the children’s apartment, his car full of bags, Thomas reflected on how much his life had changed in just one day.
For years, he had focused only on work — building wealth, climbing the professional ladder.
His emotional side had always taken a back seat — or been ignored completely.
Now, faced with the reality of these three children — especially Estella, possibly his daughter — Thomas felt something he hadn’t in a long time: a genuine concern for someone else.
It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t charity.
It was something deeper — a connection he couldn’t explain.
As he parked near the building, he saw Estella on the sidewalk, anxiously scanning the street.
When she saw him, her face lit up with a smile that struck Thomas like lightning.
A smile so much like Olivia’s.
“You really came back?” she exclaimed, running toward him.
“I promised, didn’t I?” Thomas smiled, grabbing some bags from the car.
“I brought more stuff. Want to help me carry it?”
Estella nodded eagerly, taking a small bag with effort.
Together, they climbed the stairs to the apartment.
Inside, Lily was on the mattress, holding Noah, who was crying.
When she saw Thomas, she seemed relieved.
“He’s hungry again,” Lily explained, her voice barely a whisper.
Thomas quickly pulled out a carton of milk from the bags and handed it to Estella, who rushed to prepare a bottle.
The efficiency of a five-year-old caring for her baby brother was both impressive and heartbreaking.
“I brought food,” said Thomas, beginning to unpack the supplies.
While Estella fed Noah, Thomas prepared a simple meal for Lily — canned vegetable soup that only needed warming up.
The little girl ate slowly, watching him with curiosity but still with caution.
After they finished eating, Thomas began showing them the other items he’d brought.
“First, these soft new blankets,” he said, placing one on the mattress.
“So you don’t get cold at night,” he explained.
Lily touched the blanket in awe, feeling its softness.
A small smile lit up her face — the first one Thomas had seen.
She hugged the blanket to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.
“Next,” said Thomas, pulling out the toys.
Lily’s eyes widened as she saw a doll with golden hair just like hers.
“Is that for me?” she asked, hardly believing it.
“Yes,” Thomas replied. “Do you like it?”
Lily nodded carefully, taking the doll as if afraid it might break.
“For Noah,” Thomas added, bringing over a soft teddy bear and some colorful toy cars.
The baby, now full and content, looked at the new toys with curiosity.
Estella watched it all with an unreadable expression — a mix of happiness over the new things and fear over what they meant.
Thomas sensed that she, despite her young age, understood that something important was changing in their lives.
“Estella,” Thomas said, holding up a box of colored pencils and a drawing pad.
“They’re for you.”
The girl took the colored pencils and carefully opened the box. She ran her fingers over the bright colors as if she had never seen anything like them.
“Mama used to let me use her paints sometimes,” she said softly, “but only a little, because they were expensive.”
Mentioning Olivia brought a moment of silence.
Thomas felt a lump in his throat.
“Your mother was a very talented artist,” he said, looking at the sunflower paintings leaning against the wall.
Estella nodded. “She painted when she wasn’t too tired from work. She used to say, ‘Sunflowers always turn toward the sun, even on cloudy days—and we should be like them.’”
Thomas swallowed hard.
That metaphor was so Olivia—always hopeful, no matter the circumstances.
“Where did she work?” he asked.
“All over. She cleaned houses, waited tables in restaurants. Sometimes she sold her paintings, but people didn’t pay much.”
Thomas felt a sharp pang of guilt.
While he built his fortune, Olivia had struggled to survive—raising three children on her own.
“And you’ve always lived here, haven’t you?”
“We used to live in a better place,” Estella said. “But after Mama got sick, we couldn’t pay the rent anymore. So we came here.”
Thomas inspected the apartment more closely and noticed water damage on the ceiling, mold on the walls, and broken fixtures.
This was no place for children.
“Estella, how did your mom get sick?”
The girl frowned in concentration. “She coughed a lot and got weak. Sometimes she thought we were asleep, but we heard her crying in pain. One day, she fainted. A neighbor called an ambulance. Mama never came back.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Olivia’s illness might have been treatable if she had gotten proper medical care—if she hadn’t been forced to work herself to exhaustion, if she hadn’t been alone.
“The neighbor who helped you…?”
“He moved away soon after. He said he was sorry, but he couldn’t take care of us.”
As they talked, Lily began drawing on the floor with her new pencils, creating colorful worlds she had never seen in real life.
Noah followed Estella everywhere, clinging to her shadow.
Thomas realized these children had never known a normal life—no school, no parks, no friends their age.
Their world was limited to these four crumbling walls.
“You never go outside?” he asked.
Estella shook her head. “Mama said it was dangerous to be outside with the kids alone. I only go out to buy food or try to sell her paintings.”
In the days that followed, Thomas established a routine.
He visited the children every day, always bringing supplies and toys.
He helped with small repairs—fixing a loose socket, sealing a leak in the roof, scrubbing mold from the walls—but they were only temporary fixes to deeper structural issues.
Lily slowly began to open up.
She started drawing with her colored pencils, creating vibrant scenes on the floor.
Noah followed Estella everywhere, hugging her legs, but soon, he also warmed up to Thomas.
One day, when Thomas arrived, he found Lily’s hair completely tangled.
Without hesitation, he took a brush he had brought and gently started combing her golden strands.
“Mama used to do that,” Lily said, her voice stronger now.
“She made really pretty braids.”
“I don’t know how to braid,” Thomas admitted, “but I can learn someday.”
He improvised a little puppet show for Noah using cardboard boxes and old socks as puppets.
The baby laughed for the first time since Thomas had met him—a bright, pure sound that filled the apartment.
Estella watched it all with a mix of relief and worry.
Thomas noticed that for brief moments, she allowed herself to act like a five-year-old—drawing or flipping through the books he brought.
But she always returned to her role as caregiver, checking on Noah, making sure Lily had eaten.
One night, while Thomas was helping Estella put the toys away before leaving, she looked at him carefully.
“Will you keep coming?” she asked.
“Of course,” he replied.
“Forever?”
The question took him by surprise.
It revealed her fear—fear of being abandoned again, like so many adults in her life.
Her father, who left before she was born. Her mother, who got sick. Neighbors who promised to help but never came back.
“Stella, I’m not going to leave you,” Thomas promised, taking her little hands.
“I’m here to help.”
But as he drove back to his luxurious apartment that night, Thomas knew the truth: daily visits and quick fixes were not enough.
The children needed stability, safety, and a healthy environment.
The DNA test had confirmed what his heart already knew—Estella was his biological daughter.
As for Lily and Noah, Marcus had been searching for other relatives, but no one had come forward yet.
Thomas looked around his vast, empty apartment—three extra bedrooms, a rarely used kitchen, a living room that had never seen guests.
So much wasted space… while three children squeezed into a single, decaying room.
Then an idea struck him.
Why not bring them here?
He had more than enough space, more than enough resources—and now, the legal confirmation that Estella was his responsibility.
He could never separate them. That was out of the question.
The solution was clear.
They all had to move in with him.
With that determination, Thomas began to plan.
He would have to prepare the rooms, buy more supplies, and consider long-term care. It was a drastic change, but for the first time in years, he felt he was doing something truly important.
The image of the three children in that damp, cold apartment haunted him—Estella acting like a miniature mother, Lily clinging to her new blanket, and Noah finally sleeping without crying from hunger.
They deserved better, and he could give it to them.
“I’ll fix this,” Thomas murmured to himself. “I promise.”
Thomas tossed and turned in bed.
The digital clock on his nightstand read 3:17 AM, but sleep was impossible.
His once peaceful apartment now felt hollow and meaningless.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Estella, Lily, and Noah in that gloomy, cramped space they called home.
He got up and walked to the window.
The city lights sparkled beneath the night sky, the skyline filled with tall buildings.
Somewhere out there, three children slept on a worn-out mattress on a cold floor, while he had three empty bedrooms.
Memories of Olivia flooded his mind.
What would life have been like if he had stayed?
If he had chosen love over ambition, Estella would have been born into a stable home with two present parents.
Maybe Lily and Noah would be his too—a full family instead of abandoned children left to survive on their own.
But he couldn’t change the past.
He could only try to fix the present.
Thomas grabbed his phone, and despite the hour, sent Marcus a message:
“I need to talk about the kids. Urgent. Tomorrow at 8 a.m. at my office.”
To his surprise, the reply came almost instantly:
“I’ll be there.”
He spent the rest of the night jotting down plans and calculating possibilities.
By sunrise, his decision was made.
Marcus arrived promptly at 8, carrying a folder of documents and looking concerned.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” the lawyer said, accepting the coffee Thomas offered.
“I couldn’t. I was thinking about the kids.”
“The DNA test confirmed what we suspected,” Marcus said, opening the folder.
“Estella is your biological daughter. No doubt.”
Thomas nodded. Deep down, he had known the moment he saw her eyes.
“What about Lily and Noah?”
“So far, no relatives have stepped forward. Olivia’s sister is your only lead, but according to Estella, they lost contact years ago. We’re trying to locate her, but no luck yet.”
Thomas took a deep breath.
“Marcus, I can’t leave those kids in that place. The apartment’s falling apart. Leaks, mold, dangerous wiring. It’s a constant risk.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I want all three of them to move in with me.”
Marcus adjusted his glasses, studying Thomas with curiosity.
In five years of working together, he had never seen Thomas so resolute about anything outside business.
“Legally, you’re entitled to take Estella, since she’s your biological daughter,” Marcus explained.
“With Lily and Noah, it’s more complicated. But given their living conditions, we can file for temporary custody while we work on a permanent arrangement.”
“And our chances of getting that custody?”
“Pretty good. If we can show they’re in danger, a visit from a social worker to that apartment might be enough.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I don’t want social services involved yet. They could separate the kids and put them in different foster homes. Estella would be devastated without her siblings.”
“Then what’s your plan?”
“I’ll ask them directly. If they agree to come home with me, we’ll show the judge the facts. I’m Estella’s father. I have the resources to care for all three. And keeping them together is best for their emotional wellbeing.”
Marcus considered it.
“It’s risky, but it might work. Judge Wilson usually prioritizes the children’s interests over legal technicalities.”
After the meeting, Thomas set out on a mission.
His first stop was a children’s furniture store.
He bought beds, colorful wardrobes, shelves, animal-shaped lamps, and soft rugs for the kids’ new room.
“Your kids are going to love this,” the saleswoman said as she rang up the order.
“I hope so,” Thomas replied, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and hope at the word kids.
Next, he bought more clothes and educational toys, illustrated books, art supplies and slightly more advanced books for Estella, more dolls and simple games for Lily, sensory toys appropriate for Noah’s age.
His final stop was the grocery store, where he stocked up on healthy food, kid-friendly snacks, and natural juices.
He also bought hygiene products, basic medicines, and vitamins.
By the time he returned home, the new furniture was being delivered.
Thomas supervised the setup, directing the crew on where to place everything.
He wanted it to be perfect.
While arranging the new room, doubts crept in.
What did he know about being a parent?
He had never cared for children before.
He knew nothing about bedtime routines, emotional needs, or discipline.
What would Olivia think of him now—trying to take on a role he had never prepared for?
Then he thought of Estella, managing everything at age five with no resources.
If she could do it, surely he could learn.
He wasn’t perfect—but he was infinitely better than leaving them in that crumbling apartment.
When he was finished, it was past 3 PM.
Thomas stepped back to admire his work.
The once-empty room was now warm and colorful—designed for children.
With any luck, it would be Estella, Lily, and Noah’s new home.
He took a quick shower and drove to their building.
His heart pounded at the thought of telling them.
What if Estella said no?
What if she preferred to stay in the only place she had ever known, despite its dangers?
He would have to respect her choice.
As he pulled up near the building, he saw Estella sitting on the front steps, drawing in the sketchbook he had given her.
When she saw him, her eyes lit up.
That genuine joy was worth more than every profitable deal in his career.
“Thomas!” she exclaimed, running to him.
“You’re early today.”
“I have something important to talk to you about,” he said with a smile.
“Is everyone okay?”
“Noah woke up without coughing,” Estella replied, her small face tight with concern—an expression far too mature for her age.
“And Lily didn’t want breakfast.”
Thomas’s stomach twisted.
This was exactly why he needed to act fast.
They went inside together.
Thomas found Lily lying on the mattress, paler than usual.
Noah wasn’t playing with the toy cars Thomas had brought; instead, he sat quietly, coughing now and then.
“Hey, little ones,” Thomas said, kneeling by the mattress.
“How are you today?”
Lily shrugged, but Noah smiled and toddled over, babbling, “Papa”—a word that still shook Thomas’s heart every time.
He picked him up and touched his forehead.
The baby had a slight fever.
“Estella,” Thomas said after checking on the kids, “can we talk for a minute?”
She nodded and followed him to the tiny kitchen.
“This place isn’t good for you,” Thomas began, not mincing words.
“Mold on the walls, dampness, cold nights. Noah’s getting sicker, and Lily doesn’t look well either.”
Estella looked down, as if it were her fault.
“I know it’s not good… but it’s all we have. Mama used to say, ‘At least we’re together.’”
“What if I told you… there’s another option? A place where all three of you can be together, but in much better conditions.”
She looked up, caught between suspicion and hope.
“What place?”
“My apartment,” Thomas said.
“There’s plenty of space. You’d have warm beds, healthy food, new clothes… and most importantly, you’d live together—all three of you.”
Estella frowned, trying to process the information.
“But… why would you do that? Why are you helping us so much?”
Thomas hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Because I care about you. No child should live like this. And because I knew your mother… and I know she would want you to be safe.”
Estella looked at her siblings.
Lily let out a dry cough that echoed in the small room.
