Chapter 4 Airport Confrontation

# Chapter 4: Airport Confrontation

Two hours after being locked out of the kindergarten by our children, I found myself standing in the back of a hastily arranged press conference, watching the father of my triplets completely upend our lives.

Ted stood at the podium, cameras flashing as he addressed the room of journalists who had scrambled to attend after his cryptic announcement of "important personal revelations." The drone hack had already made him newsworthy; this unexpected follow-up had the media in a frenzy.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Ted began, his voice steady and confident—the voice that had convinced investors to pour billions into his company. "Yesterday, many of you witnessed what appeared to be a prank during my proposal to Vivian Chen. Today, I want to set the record straight."

He clicked a remote, and the large screen behind him displayed a photo that made my heart stop—a school portrait of the triplets, their matching grins beaming at the camera.

"I'd like to introduce you to three very special people," Ted continued, as murmurs rippled through the crowd. "Ethan, Oliver, and Lily—my children."

The room erupted in questions, cameras clicking frantically. I pressed myself further into the corner, grateful that no one had noticed me yet.

Ted held up his hand for silence. "Five years ago, due to circumstances I deeply regret, I lost contact with their mother—a brilliant woman I should never have let go. Yesterday, these three remarkable children found a rather creative way to get my attention." He smiled, and I could see genuine affection in his expression. "And I want them to know I'm listening now."

A reporter shot up from her seat. "Mr. Preston, are you confirming that your proposal was hacked by your own children? Children the public didn't know existed?"

"That's correct," Ted nodded. "And I couldn't be prouder of their ingenuity, though we'll be having a conversation about ethical hacking practices." He looked directly into the camera then, and I knew he was speaking to the triplets who were undoubtedly watching this broadcast. "I want to be clear—I'm not angry. In fact, I'm grateful they brought me back to their mother."

Another reporter called out, "Will you be seeking custody?"

My breath caught. This was my greatest fear—that Ted, with his billions and legal teams, would try to take my children.

"I will be seeking to be part of their lives," Ted answered carefully. "But their mother has done an extraordinary job raising them, and I have nothing but respect and admiration for her."

The questions continued, but I stopped listening, my mind racing with the implications of what was happening. Our careful anonymity was gone. By tomorrow, everyone would know that Wilona Greenwood was alive and had borne Ted Preston's children.

After the press conference, Ted found me in the back of the room.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level despite the panic rising in my chest.

"Yes," he replied simply. "I needed them to know I'm serious—that I'm not hiding them or you. Margaret controlled my life through secrets and threats. I won't let that happen again."

I couldn't argue with his logic, but the practical concerns remained. "What happens now? Reporters will be hunting for us by dinner."

"Let me help," he said, reaching for my hand but stopping when I flinched away. "I have security teams, private accommodations—whatever you need to feel safe."

"We don't need your money, Ted."

"This isn't about money." Frustration colored his voice. "This is about protecting our family from the media circus I just created. Please, let me do at least that much."

The word "family" struck me like a physical blow. We weren't a family. We were a woman who had built a life for herself and her children, and a man who had suddenly reappeared after five years.

Before I could respond, my phone rang—the school.

"Ms. Greenwood? Your children are insisting on leaving early. They're quite... persistent," the director said, sounding frazzled.

I suppressed a groan. "They saw the press conference?"

"On every computer in the lab, yes. And they've somehow managed to lock themselves in my office. They're asking for you—and Mr. Preston."

"We'll be right there," I promised, hanging up.

Ted raised an eyebrow. "I take it our audience awaits?"

"They've barricaded themselves in the director's office."

He chuckled. "Resourceful doesn't begin to cover it."

This time, when we arrived at the school, the doors opened for us immediately. The director met us in the hallway, looking equal parts impressed and exasperated.

"Your children are quite... exceptional," she said diplomatically. "They've agreed to unlock my office if both of you come together."

She led us to her office door, where a tablet had been duct-taped to the wall outside. On the screen was a crude facial recognition program with our photos side by side.

"Please look at the camera," came Lily's voice from inside.

Ted and I exchanged glances before leaning in toward the tablet. A green light scanned our faces, and the door lock clicked.

"You may enter," announced Oliver in what I recognized as his "robot voice."

Inside, the three of them sat in a row behind the director's desk, looking for all the world like tiny executives in a board meeting. Lily, in the center, had her hands folded in front of her.

"We saw your press conference," she said to Ted, her hazel eyes—so like his—studying him carefully.

Ted nodded, approaching slowly as if they were wild animals who might spook. "What did you think?"

"You called us remarkable," Ethan noted. "And you didn't seem mad about the drones."

"I'm not mad," Ted confirmed. "Impressed, actually. Not many five-year-olds could hack a system that complex."

"We're not many five-year-olds," Oliver stated matter-of-factly.

Despite my anxiety, I bit back a smile. No, they certainly weren't.

"We've decided to talk to you," Lily announced, clearly the appointed spokesperson. "But we have conditions."

Ted glanced at me, amusement flickering across his features before he schooled his expression into something appropriately serious. "I'm listening."

"First, you can't take Mommy away," Ethan said firmly.

"Or us," Oliver added.

"Second," Lily continued, "you have to prove you're not a bad guy."

"And how would I do that?" Ted asked.

The triplets exchanged looks before Lily pulled a folded paper from her pocket. "We made a contract."

I stepped forward, taking the paper she offered. It was covered in crayon writing with spaces for signatures at the bottom. The "contract" was mostly demands that Ted be nice to me, never make me cry, and come to their birthday party next month.

Ted read it over my shoulder, his expression softening. "I think these are very reasonable terms."

"There's more," Lily said, her voice suddenly quieter. "If you sign it, we'll help you."

"Help me with what?" Ted asked.

"Getting Mommy to like you again," Oliver blurted, earning an elbow from his sister.

"That was supposed to be a secret part!" Lily hissed.

My face heated as Ted's gaze shifted to me, a hint of hope in his eyes that I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

"I think we should discuss this somewhere else," I interjected. "You three have disrupted enough school activities for one day."

After profuse apologies to the director and promises of better behavior (which no one in the room believed), we checked the triplets out for the day. The question of where to go loomed large—my small apartment would be surrounded by reporters by now, and I wasn't ready to accept Ted's offer of his protected compounds.

"I've booked a private dining room at Le Jardin," Ted said as we walked to the parking lot. "Neutral territory, excellent security, and they make those chocolate soufflés you used to love."

The fact that he remembered my favorite dessert after five years shouldn't have affected me, but it did. "Fine, but just for lunch. We need to make plans for what happens next."

The children, who had been suspiciously quiet, perked up at this.

"Are we going to live with Mr. Preston now?" Ethan asked.

"No," I said firmly, at the same moment Ted said, "You can call me Dad."

An awkward silence fell. The triplets looked between us, clearly sensing the tension.

"How about we start with lunch?" I suggested, ushering them toward my car.

"Actually," Ted said, "would you mind if they rode with me? I have booster seats installed, and it would give us a chance to talk."

I hesitated, maternal protectiveness warring with the knowledge that these were his children too.

"Please, Mommy?" Lily begged. "His car is a Tesla! It has autopilot!"

"How do you know what kind of car he drives?" I asked suspiciously.

"We might have looked at his Instagram," Oliver admitted.

Ted raised an eyebrow at me. "Instagram?"

"They're not supposed to be on social media," I sighed. "Yet another boundary discussion we need to have."

To my surprise, the triplets went willingly with Ted after I gave my reluctant permission. I followed his sleek Tesla in my practical sedan, watching in the rearview mirror as reporters began to gather at the school. News was spreading fast.

At the restaurant, we were whisked through a private entrance to a secluded dining room. The triplets were instantly charmed by Ted, who listened attentively to their rapid-fire questions and answered with a patience I hadn't expected.

"Do you really have a robot that makes ice cream?" Ethan asked.

"I do," Ted nodded. "It was a prototype that didn't quite work out for mass production, but it makes excellent strawberry ice cream."

"Can we see it?" Oliver's eyes were wide.

"Someday, if your mom agrees."

I watched their interaction carefully, torn between joy at seeing them connect with their father and fear of what this new reality meant for our carefully constructed life.

As lunch progressed, the triplets grew more comfortable, showing off their knowledge of coding and technology that clearly impressed Ted. He, in turn, treated them not as children but as small people with valid thoughts and ideas—something I'd always tried to do.

"You've done an amazing job with them," Ted said quietly when the triplets were distracted by the dessert menu. "They're brilliant, confident, kind... everything I could have hoped for."

"They are pretty special," I agreed, allowing myself a small smile.

"Like their mother." His gaze was warm, appreciative in a way that made me uncomfortable because of how familiar it felt—how easily it could pull me back to feelings I'd worked hard to bury.

After lunch, as we were preparing to leave, Ted pulled me aside. "We need to talk about security arrangements. The media will be relentless now."

"I've been thinking about that," I said. "I need to get some things from our apartment, then maybe a hotel for a few days until this dies down."

Ted shook his head. "It won't die down, Wilona. Not for a while. Let me arrange something more secure."

Before I could argue, my phone buzzed with a news alert. My blood ran cold as I read the headline: "PRESTON HEIR REVEALS SECRET FAMILY; MARGARET PRESTON VOWS TO 'PROTECT FAMILY LEGACY.'"

Ted looked over my shoulder, his expression darkening. "She's making her move already."

"What does that mean for us?"

"It means you were right to run five years ago," he admitted grimly. "But this time, we face her together."

My instinct to flee was overwhelming. I gathered the children, making excuses about needing to get home to pack overnight bags. They protested, not wanting to leave Ted's company so soon.

"I'll see you again very soon," he promised them. "But right now, I need to have a grown-up talk with your mom about keeping you all safe."

They accepted this reluctantly, and I hurried them to the car, my mind already planning our escape. We'd need new identities, maybe leave the country this time...

"I know what you're thinking," Ted said, following us to the parking lot. "Please don't run."

"You don't understand what she's capable of," I replied, keeping my voice low so the children wouldn't hear.

"I do now." His expression was grim. "But running isn't the answer this time. Let me help you fight."

I hesitated, then shook my head. "I need to protect them. That's all that matters."

We drove back to our apartment in tense silence, the triplets unusually quiet in the backseat. I could see their minds working, processing everything that had happened. When we arrived home, I was relieved to see no reporters had found our address yet.

"Pack overnight bags, kids. Just essentials," I instructed, already pulling out our emergency suitcases—always kept ready.

"Are we running away from Dad?" Lily asked bluntly.

The word "Dad" stopped me cold. Already, they were thinking of him that way.

"We're just being cautious," I hedged.

"But he wants to help us," Ethan protested.

"It's complicated," I sighed, continuing to pack.

Oliver approached me, unfolding a paper from his pocket—the contract they had presented to Ted. "He signed it, Mommy. Look."

Sure enough, Ted's familiar signature was at the bottom, alongside three wobbly kindergarten signatures.

"And we signed too," Lily added. "That means we promised to help him, and he promised to help us."

I knelt down to their level. "Sometimes adults make promises they can't keep, even when they want to."

"Like when you promised we wouldn't have to move again?" Oliver asked quietly.

The question hit me like a physical blow. They were right—I had promised stability, yet here I was, packing escape bags again.

Before I could respond, my phone rang—the airport.

"Ms. Greenwood? This is Sandra from private aviation services. Mr. Preston asked me to confirm your flight details for this evening. We'll have the jet ready at 7 PM."

I hadn't booked any flight. "I think there's been a mistake."

"No mistake," came Ted's voice suddenly. He must have been conferenced in. "It's a contingency plan, Wilona. If you decide to leave, at least let me ensure you travel safely."

I ended the call, furious at his presumption yet touched by his concern. The children watched me with worried expressions.

"We don't want to leave," Lily said firmly. "We want to stay with Dad."

"He's not—" I began, then stopped myself. He was their dad. Denying that wouldn't change anything.

My phone buzzed again with another news alert: "MARGARET PRESTON FILES EMERGENCY CUSTODY PETITION FOR PRESTON TRIPLETS."

That decided it. We were leaving.

Within thirty minutes, we were in a taxi heading to the airport, three sullen children and minimal luggage beside me. I'd accepted Ted's offer of the private jet—not because I was warming to him, but because it was the fastest way to get my children to safety.

At the private aviation terminal, I was surprised to find not just the flight crew waiting, but Ted himself, leaning against the sleek private jet with his arms crossed.

"You're not coming with us," I said immediately, stepping protectively in front of the triplets.

"No," he agreed. "But I'm not letting you leave without hearing me out either."

The children pushed past me, running to Ted with an enthusiasm that broke my heart. They had known him for less than a day, yet already they were drawn to him.

"Did you come to say goodbye?" Ethan asked, his lower lip trembling.

Ted knelt down to their level. "Actually, I came to ask your mom a very important question."

"If it's about marriage, it's too soon," Lily informed him seriously. "According to romantic comedies, you need at least three big gestures first."

A smile tugged at Ted's lips. "Noted. But this is about something else." He looked up at me. "Margaret has filed for custody."

"I saw," I replied tightly.

"She's claiming I'm unfit because I didn't know about them, and you're unfit because you kept them from me," he continued. "It's a legal maneuver to control the Preston fortune, but it could work if we're divided."

"What are you suggesting?"

He pulled out a document from his jacket. "This is a counterfiling. Joint custody, both of us legally recognized as their parents, with a united front against any third-party claims."

I stared at the paper. "You want me to agree to share custody? Just like that?"

"I want to protect our children from Margaret," he corrected. "This doesn't mean you have to stay with me or even near me. It just means legally, we're both their parents and neither of us is trying to cut the other out."

It was a logical solution, one that protected the children from Margaret's machinations. But it also meant tying myself legally to Ted again, trusting him with the most precious thing in my life.

"What if I still want to leave?" I asked.

"Then I'll respect that," he said, though I could see it cost him. "But please, don't make this decision out of fear. Not again."

The triplets watched our exchange with solemn expressions, understanding more than children their age should have to.

"We don't want to run anymore, Mommy," Oliver said quietly.

Ethan nodded. "Dad said he has a big house with a lab we can use for experiments."

"With proper supervision," Ted added quickly, catching my alarmed look.

Lily stepped forward, taking my hand. "And he signed the contract. He promised not to make you cry."

I looked at my brilliant, perceptive children, then at Ted—the man I'd once loved, the father they'd just found. The man who was offering not just resources but a partnership in protecting them.

"If I sign this," I said slowly, "I need absolute transparency. No more secrets, no more unilateral decisions about what's best for me or them."

"Agreed," Ted said immediately. "Complete honesty, always."

I took the document, scanning its contents. It was straightforward—joint legal custody, with me retaining primary physical custody for now, and Ted having regular visitation rights. Most importantly, it included a clause specifically barring Margaret Preston from any custody or visitation rights.

With a deep breath, I signed my name.

"Does this mean we're staying?" Lily asked hopefully.

I nodded. "For now. But we're not staying at your apartment," I told Ted firmly. "We need our own space."

"I have a guest house on my property," he offered. "Separate entrance, completely private, but with all the security of the main compound."

It was a reasonable compromise. "Alright."

The triplets cheered, and Ted's face broke into a genuine smile—the kind I remembered from before everything fell apart.

As we prepared to leave the airport—in Ted's car this time, not on his private jet—I caught him studying my face.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"I just never thought I'd see you again," he admitted quietly. "Let alone meet our children. It feels like a miracle I don't deserve."

"Don't make me regret staying," I warned.

"I won't," he promised. "And Wilona? There's something about Lily I noticed—her eyes."

I tensed, knowing what was coming. "Yes?"

"They have sectoral heterochromia. Like mine." His voice was careful, clinical almost. "It's genetic. Has she had it checked?"

The concern in his voice was genuine, and I realized with a jolt that he'd already noticed what had taken me years to learn—that our daughter's beautiful eyes carried a potential health concern.

"She sees a specialist twice a year," I said. "So far, no complications."

Ted nodded, relief visible on his face. "Good. I know the best ophthalmologists if you ever want a second opinion."

As we walked toward the exit, Lily slipped her small hand into Ted's, looking up at him with those distinctive eyes. "Dad? Will you teach me how to make robots?"

The simple question, and the way Ted's face lit up in response, made something shift inside me. This wasn't just about custody agreements and security arrangements. This was about three children finding their father, and a father finding the family he never knew he had.

And me? I was finding that the walls I'd built to protect us might have been keeping out not just danger, but possibility as well.