“Why?” the musician asked, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you try to know us?”

Jacob struggled for words, his eyes filled with tears. “I was ashamed. I convinced myself it was too late, that you were better off without me.”

The painter, with paint-splattered hands, stepped forward. “Mom taught us the power of forgiveness,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t erase the pain you’ve caused her, or us.”

Olivia, who had stood silently in the background, finally spoke. “I never hated you, Jacob. I only wanted the best for our children.” Her voice was steady, filled with the grace that had carried her through the toughest days.