The sun was just beginning to rise over the narrow streets of Eastwood when the silence was pierced by cries—two infant voices, sharp and desperate, echoing near an overflowing trash bin. No one stopped to look. In neighborhoods like this, noise and pain were background sounds.
But that morning, something was different.
Inside a battered alleyway, a white man in a black dress shirt stood trembling. In his muscular arms, two crying Black baby girls squirmed in white onesies, their tiny fists clenched around nothing but air. He looked down at them, expression torn between rage and denial.
“Not mine,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “This can’t be happening.”
His name was Gerald Kingston a millionaire real estate mogul known for his pristine image, glossy magazine features, and cold steel-blue eyes. To the world, he was polished and powerful. But that morning, he was a…..Read Full Story Here.…………………….
