Todos los capítulos de The Fathers of My Child?: Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

#Joel’s POV#Fuck. My face still reeks of whiskey and guilt.I’m leaning over the sink in the public restroom down the hall from the lobby, splashing cold water over my cheeks like that’s gonna rinse off the way I feel. I swish water in my mouth, spit, repeat. I scrub under my eyes and slap my face twice—sharp, hard, just to wake up. I can’t go in there stinking of mistakes. Not tonight.I glance down at the flowers in my hand; white lilies. I don’t even know why I bought them. Maybe because they looked soft, forgiving. Or maybe because they reminded me of her. Fragile. Beautiful. About to die if someone didn’t water them right.God.I push through the clinic doors. My chest tightens the second I see the nurse station. My feet are unsteady, but I keep walking fast, one hand gripping the bouquet, the other trembling by my side. My phone’s buzzing again in my pocket. I ignore it.Her room. Third on the left.I don’t knock. I slam the door open.It's empty.The bed’s made. The IV pole st

#Rico’s POV#I swear, I’m two seconds away from losing it. No, scratch that. I already lost it.Paulina had the fucking audacity to call me to her damn hotel suite, acting like she wanted to talk, to make peace or whatever. But nah. She just wanted to hook up. And still sat there pretending like Victor wasn’t in her bed two nights ago. Like she didn’t orchestrate every damn leak, every disgusting sentence in those fucked up articles. And when I told her she’d ruined someone’s life, you know what she said? “She asked for it.”She actually said that. Smiled and poured herself a drink like this whole thing wasn’t disgusting.I couldn’t even hit her. Couldn’t yell. I just walked out, hands in fists, heart pounding, head spinning. If I go back to Xavier’s place now and see Victor’s slimy ass face, I swear I’ll catch another case. And I’m barely out from the last one.But this ain’t even about them anymore.It’s about her.Dorothy. She’s gone. Not “left for a breather” gone. Not “visiting s

#Dorothy’s POV#“What the actual hell are you doing here?!”I’m already backing away before the words even finish flying out of my mouth. My feet stumble against the floor tiles as I stare down at him; he's still kneeling, soaked, breathing like he ran all the way from whatever privileged hell he crawled out of.“Dorothy—”“How did you find me?” My voice breaks. “Was it the receptionist? Did she call you? But she swore—”“No,” he cuts in. “It wasn’t her. I swear it wasn’t her. It was my investigator. I hired him the day you went missing. I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Dorothy…”His voice cracks on the ‘everywhere’. I hate that it sounds real. I hate it.I wrap my arms around myself. The hoodie I’m wearing suddenly feels thinner than it was five minutes ago. I look aside, biting my lip so hard I taste copper. “Well, you’ve found me. Congratulations. Now get out.”“I can’t.”I whip around to face him. “What the hell do you mean you can’t?!” My voice rises. “You’ve been ignoring m

#Rico’s POV#It’s laughable, honestly. Bitterly funny.Of all the men in the world to go on some touching redemption arc, it just had to be Joel fucking Hernandez. Mr. Cold Shoulder. Mr. Emotionally Bankrupt. Mr. Gaslight-Gatekeep-Guilt-trip. That one. And yet here we are. Joel's the one making heartfelt apologies and sobbing in his office like a washed-up soap opera character, saying things like "She still hoped in me" and “She cared… even when she shouldn’t have”... as if he didn’t once treat her like property.And me? I’m the one hiding in a cheap-ass motel room I paid for in cash, with a damn sex worker still snoring beside me like she paid the rent here. I’m the one with my phone vibrating every ten minutes with Paulina’s name flashing across the screen, and I don’t even have the nerve to block her. I can’t face her. Not after what Joel sent me. Those photos. Those recordings. That smugness on Victor’s face in the background of them.Victor.My boy. My closest guy. Someone who on

#Narrator’s POV#The sky bleeds soft orange as the sun breaks over the edge of the world. A car sits parked on a secluded stretch of roadside overlooking the freeway. There’s no honking. Only the quiet of the morning and the wind whispering across tall grass. On the hood of the car, Joel and Dorothy sit, still, side by side. Her legs are drawn up slightly, hands resting between them while Joel’s arm curls firmly around her waist like she might disappear if he let go. She doesn't smile. She doesn’t laugh. But she leans into him. Her body is warm. He’s warmer. The kind of warmth that gets into the bones. She closes her eyes for a moment. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks and her chest rises slowly.She’s not sure what she’s doing. She can’t even say this is peace, just a kind of emotional numbness that lets her be. And yet, her head lolls slightly onto his shoulder, quietly. His thumb rubs small circles into the fabric over her waist. It’s not sexual. It’s not invasive. It’s just gro