The Billionaire Believed He Was Sterile—Until My 5-Year-Old Asked Him, "Why Do You Have My Face?"

Three months later.

The autumn air in Oakridge was crisp and cool, the oak trees along the river bank blazing with brilliant shades of orange, red, and gold.

At the edge of town, the old, leaking building that had once housed Rosie’s Diner had been completely transformed. Through a non-profit foundation created by Emily, the building was now the Theo Brooks Community Center, offering free daycare, hot meals, and job training for single mothers across the county.

Inside the bright, warm dining room, local mothers were laughing and drinking coffee while children played in the newly built indoor playground.

I stood near the counter, wearing a comfortable cashmere sweater and jeans, watching Hank—the former diner owner, who was now the head administrator of the center’s kitchen—proudly serving fresh blueberry pies to a group of seniors.

"You built something incredible here, Mrs. Brooks," Hank said with a warm smile, wiping the counter with a towel.

"We built it together, Hank," I replied, smiling as I took a sip of my tea.

Outside the large glass windows, a sleek silver sports car pulled up to the curb.

Ethan stepped out, wearing a dark turtleneck and trousers, looking relaxed and happy. He opened the rear door, helping little Theo out of his car seat. Theo was carrying a brand-new, bright blue soccer ball.

They walked into the center, Theo immediately running over to give me a tight hug around my knees.

"Mommy! Dad showed me how to kick the ball into the net!" Theo cheered excitedly. "I scored three goals!"

"Three goals?!" I gasped, crouching down to kiss his rosy cheek. "You're a superstar!"

Ethan leaned down, wrapping his arms around both of us from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "He really is. He almost broke the neighbor's greenhouse window on the third kick."