"I gave up 22 years of my life raising my triplet nieces — what they did at their college graduation made me drop to my knees. The girls were six months old when my brother left them on my porch with three car seats, one diaper bag, and a note on a gas receipt.

I woke up to the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the ICU blinded me. As my vision cleared, I saw three terrified faces hovering over me. Chloe, Harper, and Stella were crying, their eyes red and swollen.

"Dad," Chloe sobbed, grabbing my hand. "Oh my god, Dad. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Massive heart attack," the doctor said quietly from the doorway. "You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Elias. Your body simply gave out from exhaustion."

As I lay there, weak and wired to a dozen machines, the door to the ICU swung open.

Liam walked in. He was wearing a sharp suit and holding a massive bouquet of orchids. Behind him was a man holding a professional camera.

"Girls!" Liam said, acting the part of the concerned patriarch. "I came as soon as I heard! And I brought my publicist to make a statement to the local press. We're going to fly him to a private clinic in Switzerland."

Stella stood up, her eyes narrowing. "A publicist? Why do you have a publicist at a hospital?"

Liam’s smile faltered. "Well, sweetheart, my campaign for State Senate launches next week. The story of a reunited family overcoming a medical tragedy is very powerful to the voters."

The room went dead silent.

He didn't care about my heart. He didn't care about Chloe's medical school. He cared about a PR stunt to win an election.

Chloe stood up slowly. She walked over to the chair where her purse was, pulled out the signed lease for the luxury apartment he had given her, and ripped it into tiny shreds right in front of his face.

"Get out," Chloe whispered, her voice dripping with venom.