I Raised Triplets Alone—Then Crashed My Ex’s Baby’s Birthday Party (3 of 4)

Four Years Later

We built a good life. My cake business kept the bills paid, and my world revolved around bedtime stories, birthday candles, and the sound of three little giggles in one room.

Then the questions started.
“Why don’t we have a dad?” Oliver asked one afternoon.

I gave them a version of the truth that wouldn’t break their hearts.

And then, one Tuesday, my friend Mia burst into the bakery with a cream envelope in her hand.
“Nathan’s wife is throwing their baby’s first birthday. Half the city’s going.”

I laughed it off—at first. But that night, tucking my kids into bed, I thought: maybe it’s time he saw what he walked away from.

The Party

We showed up unannounced, dressed in our best. The valet hesitated.
“Invitation?”
“No,” I said evenly. “But I have his children.”

Nathan spotted us from across the lawn. The color drained from his face.

He came closer, eyes flicking from me to the kids.
Triplets. Two boys and a girl. His mirror image.

“Emma… what—?”
“These are your children,” I told him. “Oliver. Noah. Grace.”