Chapter 10 Terminal VIP

# Chapter 10: Terminal VIP

"My dad is Mommy's ATM!" Lily announced proudly to her kindergarten teacher, causing the woman's eyebrows to shoot up toward her hairline.

Six months after the wedding—yes, there had been a proposal, though surprisingly not involving drones—we were attending the end-of-year parent-teacher conference at Sunshine Kindergarten. Ted and I sat side by side, holding hands while Ms. Harper tried to diplomatically address our daughter's interesting choice of words.

"Lily has been very... informative about your family situation," she began carefully.

"I'm sure she has," I replied, suppressing a smile. "What else has she been sharing?"

Ms. Harper consulted her notes. "Let's see... she told the class that her dad renamed his company after her mom, that she was kidnapped by an 'evil grandma,' and that she has her father's bone marrow inside her now, which makes her 'extra his daughter.'"

Ted coughed to cover a laugh. "Well, technically all of that is true."

"She also mentioned that you were her mom's 'terminal VIP,' whatever that means," Ms. Harper continued, looking increasingly bewildered.

"I think she meant 'eternal,'" I corrected, squeezing Ted's hand. "It's something he said at our wedding."

The memory was still fresh—our small, private ceremony on Ted's Catalina Island retreat, with only the children, a justice of the peace, and the endless Pacific as witnesses. Ted's vows had included a callback to the triplets' drone hack, promising to be my "lifelong VIP, not just an ATM." The children had cheered at the reference, while I had struggled to deliver my own vows through tears of laughter and joy.

"I see," Ms. Harper nodded, clearly not seeing at all. "Well, regardless of the... unique family narrative, I want you to know that Lily is thriving academically. All three children are performing well beyond kindergarten level."

"We're aware," Ted said dryly. "They reprogrammed our home security system last week to allow their stuffed animals unrestricted access."

Ms. Harper's eyes widened. "They... what?"

"He's joking," I interjected quickly, though in fact, the triplets had indeed created RFID chips for their favorite toys to trigger the door sensors.

"Mostly joking," Ted amended with a wink that made the teacher blush slightly.

Marriage had softened him in ways I hadn't expected. The serious, driven CEO still existed—Preston Technologies continued to thrive under his leadership—but at home, he was simply Dad, the man who built blanket forts and coded simple games for the children to "hack" as practice.

"There is one concern," Ms. Harper continued, her expression growing more serious. "The children seem to have developed a somewhat... protective attitude toward other students. Last week, Oliver and Ethan confronted a third-grader who was teasing a classmate."

"Confronted how?" I asked, suddenly alert.

"They told him they had accessed his parents' email accounts and would 'release embarrassing information' if he didn't stop bullying."

Ted and I exchanged alarmed glances. "Did they actually hack someone's email?" I asked.

"When questioned, they admitted they hadn't—it was an 'empty threat based on psychological manipulation,'" Ms. Harper quoted, clearly repeating their exact words. "But the intent is concerning."

"We'll talk to them," Ted promised. "They understand the power of their abilities, but we're still working on the ethics of when to use them."

The meeting concluded with Ms. Harper's recommendation that we consider advanced placement for the triplets in the coming school year—a suggestion we had already been discussing. Their intelligence was becoming increasingly difficult to challenge in a standard educational setting.

As we walked through the kindergarten hallway afterward, Ted paused to look at the children's artwork displayed on the walls. "Remember when this was where it all started?" he asked, his voice soft with reminiscence. "When they locked me out with their facial recognition program?"

I smiled, leaning into his side as his arm wrapped around my waist. "They were protecting me."

"And now I get to do the protecting," he replied, pressing a kiss to my temple.

The past six months had been a whirlwind of change. After our Catalina Island weekend—during which Ted had proposed properly, without drones or public spectacle—we had decided to blend our lives completely. The guest house was renovated into a technology lab for the children (with appropriate safety measures and parental controls), and I had moved into the main house with Ted.

Margaret's trial had concluded with a plea deal that ensured she would never come near our family again. Ted had bought out her remaining shares in the company, finally severing the last tie to his stepmother's influence. The Preston Technologies board had adjusted remarkably well to the changes, especially after the triplets' coding abilities became public knowledge—the company's stock had soared when investors realized the next generation of Preston genius was already developing.

"We should get the kids," Ted said, checking his watch. "Lily has her final eye check-up at four."

We collected the triplets from their classroom, where they were engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate about quantum computing with their bewildered teacher's aide.

"Mom! Dad!" they chorused when they saw us, abandoning their argument to rush over.

"How was your conference?" Lily asked. "Did Ms. Harper tell you about our robot project?"

"She mentioned several things," I replied carefully. "Including some concerns about threatening to hack emails."

The boys had the grace to look slightly abashed. "We were just helping," Oliver protested.

"We know," Ted said, ushering them toward the exit. "But we need to talk about appropriate ways to help."

As we walked to the car, Ethan tugged on Ted's sleeve. "Dad, did you bring the tablet? You promised we could show you our new program."

Ted produced the device from his briefcase, handing it to the eager children. "Just remember, no actual hacking while we're driving."

"Just simulations," Lily agreed solemnly, already tapping away at the screen with her brothers huddled around her.

In the car, Ted drove while I occasionally glanced back at the triplets, still amazed at how easily they had adapted to our new family configuration. They had accepted Ted completely from the beginning, as if they had been saving a father-shaped space in their hearts just for him.

"What's this program they're so excited about?" I asked Ted quietly.

He smiled mysteriously. "Something special they've been working on. You'll see."

At the medical center, we were greeted by Dr. Chen, who had become something of a family friend since Lily's successful treatment. "There's my favorite patient!" she exclaimed as Lily ran to hug her. "Ready for your check-up?"

"Will I need more of Dad's bone marrow?" Lily asked, sounding almost hopeful about the prospect.

Dr. Chen laughed. "I don't think so. The last tests looked perfect."

The examination proceeded smoothly, with Dr. Chen confirming what we had observed at home—Lily's symptoms had disappeared completely. The pressure on her optic nerve remained normal, her vision was perfect, and the prognosis was excellent.

"The transplant was a complete success," Dr. Chen concluded, smiling at Ted. "Your cells were exactly what she needed."

"Does this mean I'm extra-special?" Lily asked, swinging her legs from the examination table.

"You were already special," I assured her. "The transplant just made you healthy."

"And extra Dad-like," Ethan added helpfully. "You're 10% Dad now, genetically speaking."

"Actually, the genetic contribution from the transplant is primarily confined to the blood and immune system," Ted began to explain, before catching my amused look. "But yes, in a way, you have a little extra Dad in you now."

As we prepared to leave, Dr. Chen pulled me aside. "I know this is premature," she said quietly, "but given the family history, we should discuss monitoring for the boys as well. They don't show the heterochromia, but the genetic predisposition could still be present."

I nodded, grateful for her thoroughness. "We'll set up appointments."

Ted, who had overheard, joined us. "Whatever they need, whenever they need it," he said firmly. "No more medical mysteries in this family."

In the car on the way home, the children were unusually quiet, still focused on the tablet. I could see them exchanging meaningful glances in the rearview mirror—a sure sign they were plotting something.

"Alright, what's going on back there?" I finally asked.

"Nothing!" they chorused with identical innocent expressions.

Ted caught my eye, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let them have their secrets for a few more minutes," he suggested. "We're almost home."

When we pulled into the driveway, I noticed something strange—the house lights were all on, changing colors in a synchronized pattern.

"Ted?" I questioned, but he merely shrugged, though his eyes betrayed his complicity.

"Show time!" Lily announced as we entered the house. "Mom, you have to stand in the living room."

Bewildered but curious, I allowed myself to be positioned in the center of the room while Ted and the children stood together by the smart home control panel.

"Ready?" Ted asked the triplets, who nodded eagerly.

He pressed a button, and suddenly the entire house came alive—lights pulsing in rainbow patterns, music playing softly from hidden speakers, and the large wall screen displaying a photo montage of our family. Images flowed across the screen—Ted and me from years ago, the triplets as babies (photos I had shared with him after our reconciliation), and newer images of all five of us together.

"What is this?" I asked, emotion tightening my throat.

"It's our anniversary," Lily explained proudly.

"Not our wedding anniversary," Ted clarified. "But one year since the drone hack that brought us together again."

The children stepped forward, each holding something. Ethan presented me with a small 3D-printed statue of a drone. Oliver handed Ted a matching one. Lily stood between us, holding up a tablet.

"We made a program," she announced. "Watch!"

She tapped the screen, and all the house lights synchronized to form moving patterns across the walls and ceiling—a digital recreation of the drone hack that had started everything.

"We couldn't use real drones inside," Ethan explained. "Fire hazard."

"Very responsible," I agreed, fighting tears at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

"There's more," Oliver added. "We made Dad's smart house system better."

He took the tablet from Lily and tapped a different command. Immediately, the lights rearranged into words that scrolled across the walls: "WELCOME TO THE PRESTON-GREENWOOD FAMILY HEADQUARTERS."

"Do you like it?" Lily asked anxiously. "We worked really hard on the programming."

"It's perfect," I assured her, kneeling to gather all three into a hug. "The best anniversary gift ever."

Ted joined our group hug, his arms encircling all of us. "They insisted on marking the occasion," he said softly. "Though I think they just wanted an excuse to reprogram the entire house."

"It was Dad's idea," Ethan corrected. "We just did the coding."

"And added some extra features," Oliver admitted. "Like this one."

He tapped the tablet again, and the lights shifted to spell out a new message: "DAD IS MOMMY'S VIP."

Ted laughed, pulling me closer as the children beamed up at us. "They got the wording right this time," he noted.

"Terminal VIP," I teased, echoing Lily's kindergarten announcement.

"Lifelong," he corrected, bending to kiss me softly.

The triplets made exaggerated gagging noises, though their grins betrayed their approval.

"Is this the part where we tell Ms. Harper about?" Lily asked innocently.

Ted pulled back, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly did you tell Ms. Harper?"

The triplets exchanged glances before Ethan spoke up. "Just that Mom is having another baby."

Time seemed to stop as Ted and I stared at them in shock.

"I'm... what?" I managed finally.

"Having a baby," Lily repeated confidently. "We analyzed your symptoms, cross-referenced with medical databases, and calculated the statistical probability."

"And we checked your calendar app," Oliver added helpfully. "You missed a period."

My mind raced. They weren't wrong about the missed period, but I had attributed it to stress from the recent company reorganization I'd been helping Ted with. Could it be possible?

"This is why we need to have serious conversations about privacy," I said weakly, though my heart was suddenly pounding with possibility.

Ted's expression had shifted from shock to wonder, his eyes searching mine. "Wilona? Is there any chance they're right?"

"I... I don't know," I admitted. "I haven't taken a test."

"We ordered one," Lily announced proudly. "It's in the bathroom cabinet. Express delivery."

Ted burst out laughing, the sound rich with joy and disbelief. "Of course you did. Is there anything you three don't think of?"

"We're very thorough," Ethan said seriously. "And we calculated that a fourth sibling would optimize our family algorithm."

"It's not that simple," I began, but Ted's hand found mine, squeezing gently.

"Maybe we should check?" he suggested softly. "Just to set the record straight for Ms. Harper's sake."

Twenty minutes later, we gathered the children in the living room again. They sat on the sofa, three pairs of eyes watching us expectantly as Ted and I stood before them, hands clasped.

"So," Ted began, his voice steady despite the emotion I could feel in his trembling fingers. "It seems your analysis was correct."

The triplets erupted in cheers, high-fiving each other with expressions of smug satisfaction.

"We knew it!" Lily crowed. "Our prediction model has a 98.7% accuracy rate!"

"Does this mean we're really getting a fourth sibling?" Oliver asked excitedly.

I nodded, still processing the news myself. "Yes, it appears so. In about eight months."

"We'll need to run new simulations," Ethan said thoughtfully. "To determine optimal bedroom arrangements and resource allocation."

Ted laughed, pulling me against his side. "I think we can handle the logistics, buddy. But we appreciate your input."

"Are you happy?" Lily asked suddenly, her perceptive eyes studying our faces.

Ted and I exchanged glances, a world of meaning passing between us. When we had reconnected a year ago, neither of us had imagined this outcome—not just reconciliation, not just marriage, but a new life created from our healing relationship.

"Very happy," Ted assured her, his arm tightening around me. "Surprised, but very happy."

"Good," Lily nodded approvingly. "Because we already told everyone at school."

"You what?" I gasped.

"Just as a hypothetical scenario," Ethan clarified quickly. "For scientific discussion purposes."

"And we may have mentioned it to the Preston Technologies board during our video call yesterday," Oliver added.

Ted groaned. "No wonder the chairman sent me that cryptic congratulations email this morning."

I couldn't help but laugh. This was our life now—brilliant children three steps ahead of us, corporate entanglements, and unexpected blessings. It was chaotic and complicated and nothing like the careful isolation I had maintained for five years. It was also more wonderful than I could have imagined.

"We should probably make an official announcement," Ted suggested, "before they program the company billboards to announce it for us."

"Good idea," Lily agreed seriously. "We were considering that option."

Later that evening, after we had called Ted's cousin Julia and my friend Alex with the news, and after the children had finally gone to bed (following extensive negotiations about their roles as older siblings), Ted and I sat together on the patio, watching the stars.

"A baby," he said softly, his hand resting on my still-flat stomach. "I get to be there from the beginning this time."

"Every doctor's appointment, every midnight craving, every mood swing," I confirmed with a smile. "The full experience."

"I can't wait." His voice was thick with emotion. "Wilona, when I lost you—when I thought you were gone forever—I never imagined I'd get a second chance at happiness. And now look at us."

I leaned into him, drawing strength and giving it in equal measure. "From hidden identities to hacked proposals to 'Mommy's ATM.'"

"Speaking of which," Ted said with a chuckle, "I got a call from Lily's teacher after we left today. Apparently, she felt the need to update her earlier statement."

"Oh no," I groaned. "What did she say this time?"

"According to Ms. Harper, Lily announced to the class that her dad isn't just an ATM anymore. He's her mom's 'terminal VIP,' and they're having another baby because 'their algorithm needs optimization.'"

I burst out laughing. "That sounds about right."

Ted's expression grew more serious, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "She wasn't wrong, you know. About the VIP part."

"I know," I said softly.

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, contemplating the journey that had brought us here—the pain and separation, the unexpected reunion, the healing and growth that had followed.

"Do you ever regret it?" Ted asked suddenly. "Any of it? The years apart, the struggles you faced alone?"

I considered the question carefully. "I regret that we lost those years together. I regret that you missed the triplets' early childhood. But I don't regret the choices I made to protect them. And I don't regret where we are now."

He nodded, understanding. "Everything led us here."

"Even the hacked drone proposal," I agreed with a smile.

Ted laughed. "Especially that. Remind me to thank them again for their excellent hacking skills."

"Maybe not too enthusiastically," I cautioned. "They're already planning to teach the baby coding 'from the womb.' Direct quote from Ethan."

"Of course they are," Ted shook his head fondly. "Should we be worried that our children are building a small army of tech-savvy minions?"

"Probably," I admitted. "But they're using their powers for good. Mostly."

Ted pulled me closer, his lips brushing my forehead. "I love you, Wilona Preston-Greenwood. ATM, VIP, and everything in between."

"I love you too," I whispered, the words still new enough to send a thrill through me each time I said them. "Even when you encourage our children's most chaotic tendencies."

"I do not," he protested with mock indignation.

From inside the house, we heard a sudden electronic beeping, followed by the smart home system announcing: "Attention: Junior programmers detected attempting unauthorized access to parental controls."

Ted sighed, rising to his feet and extending his hand to help me up. "Duty calls. Shall we go prevent another international hacking incident?"

I took his hand, laughing. "Just another Tuesday with the Preston-Greenwood Security Team."

As we walked back into our home—our wonderfully chaotic, technologically advanced, love-filled home—I reflected on how completely my life had transformed in just one year. From a woman in hiding to the other half of a partnership. From a single mother protecting her children alone to part of a family team.

All because three little hackers decided to rewrite our story, one line of code at a time.