All Chapters of The Fathers of My Child?: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

#Rico’s POV#I don’t even like this bar. The music’s always too low, the lights are yellow and weird, the chairs make my ass hurt, and the smell of bad cologne and worse decisions sticks to the walls like tar. But I keep coming back. Because it’s quiet. Because nobody here knows me. Because the bartender already knows I don’t do small talk. And because when I sit here long enough and get a little drunk enough, I don’t think about her.But that’s a damn lie. I always think about her.I take another long sip of my drink, ignoring the way the bartender’s eyes flicker to me and then away again. He still looks scared shitless. Like I’m gonna flip a table or throw my glass. I won’t. But if I did, good. I want him nervous. I want somebody out here to feel as twitchy as I’ve been feeling since that goddamn parking lot incident.I wasn’t stalking her.I didn’t even know Joel would be there. Or that Dorothy would still look like that. Still look like my fucking heart cracked into two legs and w

#Dorothy’s POV#The baby in my arms is quiet, small and soft, wrapped in a pale cream blanket. I don’t know how long I’ve been holding him… but my arms aren’t tired. They’re warm, and I feel like I’ve done this before. Like he belongs with me.And behind me… I hear the footsteps. They sound hesitant.“Dorothy,” Rico’s voice comes first, warm and low. He’s walking up from behind. “Come on. Let’s go home.”I look at him. He looks good, safe. A little tired, maybe, but still the man I’ve always known could love me without asking for more than I can give. His hand reaches out. I should go to him. I should.But then—Joel’s standing ahead. Not close or far. Just… standing there. His arms are stretched out like he's ready to catch me. His face is tired too, but softer than I remember. His mouth isn’t moving, but I know what he’s saying.Come to me.I freeze. Look down at the baby.“Dorothy…” Rico’s voice again. “He needs you. He’s your son.”But Joel takes a step forward, just one. His voic

#Dorothy’s POV#I sit quietly on the metal bench under the shade of the frangipani tree, inhaling slowly. The scent of damp grass and medications permeates the air, but I don’t mind. It’s the first time I’m stepping outside since the surgery, and my legs still feel like they’re on foreign land, like I borrowed them from someone else and they’re not sure I deserve them back just yet. There’s this light tug of pain in my lower back whenever I take a deeper breath, but it’s manageable.And to be honest, I’m just relieved. I’m alive.I made it through.I adjust my shawl across my shoulders and watch the other patients scattered around the therapeutic garden. Some sit with loved ones, some laugh like they just heard the funniest thing in the world. There’s this one boy, couldn’t be older than ten, walking carefully next to a woman who looks like his grandma, both holding hands as they count flowers out loud. A couple nearby is sharing a fruit bowl, the girl resting her head on the guy’s sh

#Dorothy’s POV#I don’t know what makes me ask Nurse Lira to take me out this morning. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight is crawling through the clinic windows too brightly for how I feel. Or maybe it’s how quiet my room has been since the day after my surgery. No phone calls. No visits. No Rico. No Joel. Just me and my aching body.I just know I wake up feeling... suffocated.Lira’s tying her scarf when I catch her in the hallway. I don’t beg her outright, but I ask once. And she knows me well enough to say yes.“I saw a chapel a few blocks down last week,” I murmur, pulling my hoodie tighter over my thin frame. “I just wanna sit. Not pray.”She looks at me for a moment like she’s trying to decide whether to argue. But she just sighs and nods. “You have one hour,” she says. “And if you feel dizzy or—”“I won’t.”“You’d better not,” she says, trying to scold me with her eyes, but she’s already motioning toward the clinic car. “Let’s go.”The church is quiet. No choir yet. No crowds. Jus

#Rico’s POV#The crunch of my knuckles against brick echoes louder than the shitty bass from the speaker beside me. I drag my fist back from the backstage wall and stare at the blood blooming across my hand like ink in water.Another failed pitch. Another rejection. Another patronizing, “We’ll get back to you when the market’s more stable,” from a man who didn’t even let me finish my fucking proposal.I lean forward, both hands pressed to the wall now, breathing hard.This was supposed to be the last one. The last shot. The last glimmer of anything remotely resembling progress. And now… I can’t even afford my rent in two weeks. And Paulina’s gone. Her money’s gone. The bar tabs? All mine now. My bank app hates me. I hate me.I pull my phone from my back pocket, swipe it open, and press call on the only number that matters.Xavier picks up on the fourth ring.“Bro, I’m inking right now,” he says, background buzzing with tattoo needles and some customer’s moaning. “Make it fast.”“You e