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CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHT

Author: Mairee
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-11-01 21:16:21

#Dorothy’s POV#

I can still hear the bottle crash against the curb. The sound keeps echoing in my head like it’s stuck there, playing over and over again even though we left the scene long ago.

The car is too quiet, but somehow still too loud. The driver, in a bid to soothe whatever he assumes is a ‘bad moment’ between husband and wife, turns on the radio. Some dusty blues track crackles out from the speakers. The bass is soft, the vocals whiny, and the guitar sounds like it's weeping. He probably thinks it’s romantic. Or safe.

It isn’t.

I stare out the window.

I feel Joel watching me. I feel him like a stare I didn’t ask for, like pressure building behind glass. But I don’t move. I don’t turn. I don’t talk.

Once again…

Once again, I was talked about like a prize at the center of a boxing ring. Like I’m some prize being shoved back and forth.

Once again, I was embarrassed in public.

Once again, my name was ripped out of my mouth and held by two men who seem to think they get to define
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  • The Fathers of My Child?   CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO

    #Joel’s POV#Sometimes I wonder if the building will burn down without me. If the company will dissolve into smoke and headlines and lawsuits the second I stop picking up my phone.But I still don’t pick up.I don’t care right now.They’ve called like ten times today. Some lawyer, some investor, one of the board guys. Kel forwarded a voice note saying someone from JY Capital is threatening to pull out. I didn’t even listen to it fully.Benedict Holdings.That’s what it’s called.Not Joel Holdings.My father’s legacy. My father’s madness. His obsession. Let him haunt it from wherever he is.I just want to be here. In this house. With her.I pull open the drawer in the closet where I dumped old hotel key cards and access tags and random junk. I’m trying to find one that might still work for the old security vault room he built downstairs. Not like I want to go inside, but there’s something in there, maybe old documents or equipment. I just want to check.My fingers skim through broken p

  • The Fathers of My Child?   CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY-ONE

    #Dorothy’s POV#The oats taste like nothing. I chew slow anyway.I told them not to add sugar. I don’t want sweet today. I don’t want anything that makes me feel soft or content or whatever the fuck. I just want peace.My phone is beside the bowl. I glance at it. No new notifications. Just the screen dimming and brightening every few minutes like it’s bored of me ignoring it.I take another spoonful. Chew. Swallow.I tell myself I’m not going to think about yesterday. Not the mall. Not Rico. Not Joel. Not even the look in Joel’s eyes after I told him not to follow me.But my brain doesn’t listen.Because here I am thinking about the fact that the same man who once looked at me like I was a contract… now looks at me like I’m salvation.He begs these days; quick to kneel, quick to cry, quick to promise.It should make me feel powerful. I mean, maybe that’s what a lot of women would want. That reversal. That power. That ability to hold his shame like a leash and make him crawl to me ever

  • The Fathers of My Child?   CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY

    #Rico’s POV#This is how it ends, isn’t it?Me. A bottle. A cracked phone screen. The sky above me not even clear enough to give me stars.I don’t know how I got to the rooftop. All I know is I couldn't stay inside that damn box of a motel room any longer. I needed air. I needed… nothing.I sit on the rough edge of the rooftop wall, legs dangling like some cliché broken man scene from a movie. Only difference? This isn’t fiction. This is me.I light another cigarette. My fourth one in the last hour. The pack’s almost done. My bottle of cheap rum is sweating beside me, and I swear it’s the only thing listening.My phone screen glows in the darkness as I replay the video again.That fucking video.The one that went viral. The one everyone’s seen. The one where I yelled that shit at Joel like a rabid, bitter dog. The one where Dorothy showed up just in time to hear me say what I had no business saying.“You only stayed with her for your father’s money!”I rub my face hard. My skin burns.

  • The Fathers of My Child?   CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINE

    #Joel’s POV#The door creaks.I’m not even sure I heard it at first, but the soft shift of air that brushes my face as the door opens confirms it.She comes out.My heart starts beating like it just remembered how.Dorothy walks past me, but she doesn’t glance or blink. She doesn’t even breathe in my direction.She just walks… as if I’m a ghost.My throat dries immediately. I don’t know what to say, or how to catch up with her without making things worse. But I follow her anyway, slowly.She doesn’t walk fast, but she walks with purpose. Like she’s chasing silence.“Dorothy,” I murmur behind her, trying not to be too loud. “Please… can we talk?”She stops briefly near the stairway and looks over her shoulder at me. Her face is cold. Not angry, just blank.“We’re already talking,” she says. Her voice is polite. It cuts me.She keeps walking.I sigh and follow.“Look, I didn’t know Rico would be there. I didn’t know he’d pull some ridiculous stunt—”“You didn’t know?” She turns as we bo

  • The Fathers of My Child?   CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHT

    #Dorothy’s POV#I can still hear the bottle crash against the curb. The sound keeps echoing in my head like it’s stuck there, playing over and over again even though we left the scene long ago.The car is too quiet, but somehow still too loud. The driver, in a bid to soothe whatever he assumes is a ‘bad moment’ between husband and wife, turns on the radio. Some dusty blues track crackles out from the speakers. The bass is soft, the vocals whiny, and the guitar sounds like it's weeping. He probably thinks it’s romantic. Or safe.It isn’t.I stare out the window.I feel Joel watching me. I feel him like a stare I didn’t ask for, like pressure building behind glass. But I don’t move. I don’t turn. I don’t talk.Once again…Once again, I was talked about like a prize at the center of a boxing ring. Like I’m some prize being shoved back and forth.Once again, I was embarrassed in public.Once again, my name was ripped out of my mouth and held by two men who seem to think they get to define

  • The Fathers of My Child?   CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

    #Rico’s POV#It’s the bottle that burns first. Then my throat. Then my chest.I’m not even sure when it all tipped over.Maybe it was last week, when my financial advisor told me to “get ready to go back to Atlanta soon, there’s nothing else left for you here.”Maybe it was the silence after that. Or the fact that I haven’t had a proper meal in two days. Or that I still have no place to call mine. Not really.I came to the mall this afternoon to buy cigarettes. And maybe some random shit for the apartment Victor dumped me in. Toothpaste. Shampoo. I don’t know. The kind of things that make you feel human even when your life’s loosing apart like a damn threadbare coat.Truth is, I’m just waiting. Waiting for someone to say “That’s it, Rico. Your job here is done. Go home.”But they won’t.Because Joel wants to be sure. Wants proof. Wants to wait until Dorothy births the baby—my baby—just so he can be absolutely certain I was good for one thing before they cut me out completely.I feel i

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