Semua Bab The Fathers of My Child?: Bab 181 - Bab 190

#Dorothy’s POV#It’s almost ridiculous how normal things can look even when your life is still wobbling on the edge of the unknown. The table is small, barely enough for four, but tonight it feels like a stage where the little performance of our evening routine plays out. My fork scrapes lightly on the ceramic plate, the smell of roast chicken and buttery potatoes rising between us. Joel is talking about the new listings he saw earlier, his phone lying face down next to his glass of water as if it’s some kind of discipline he’s forcing on himself. The light above us is warm, too warm for August, and I’m half-listening to him while my mind flicks between thoughts like a distracted channel surfer.I’m thinking about kitchens with more counter space, a living room big enough for the ridiculous corner couch he keeps showing me on Pinterest, and somewhere with a garden, because I can almost see myself out there in the mornings, cup of tea in hand, pretending I’m one of those women who know

#Dorothy’s POV#The sliding doors part with that automatic sigh, and I step into the grocery store with my head still buzzing. The smell hits me first—overripe bananas somewhere near the entrance, mixed with the artificial cool of the air-conditioning. I didn’t come here because we need anything urgent. I came because I don’t know where else to put myself right now. The villa feels too heavy, the clinic too close in my mind. I just… needed aisles. Something about walking up and down them, letting my eyes pass over shelves of shampoo and cereals, pretending life is ordinary, is easier than facing what I’ve just learned.My cart squeaks a little as I push it past the produce section. I grab a bag of grapes without looking too closely at them. It’s a distraction, just like the pack of cotton pads I toss in, the bath bomb set in pastel colors, the cucumber-scented face wipes. My mind is not in this store; it’s in that office with Dr. Malik’s serious, gentle eyes telling me something I can

#Joel’s POV#Cass’s voice is the first thing that disturbs the silence. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch, knees pulled close, looking like she’s deciding whether to start from the beginning or to just rip the wound open. Dorothy’s opposite her, shoulders tense, hands in her lap, eyes on the floor. I’m leaning against the frame of the glass door, still trying to wrap my head around the last twenty-four hours, and the fact that apparently there’s still more I don’t know.“Alright,” Cass exhales, the kind of exhale people do before they jump into cold water. “Dorothy… I think you should know the whole thing about me and Joel. And about… how this family mess even connects us.”My stomach knots. My mind’s already half-suspicious, half-exhausted. The last time I thought I had the full truth, it got torn apart in ten seconds by Languini’s smug little voice over the phone.Dorothy glances up, eyebrows pulling in just slightly. Cass fidgets with the hem of her shirt, not looking at eithe

#Dorothy’s POV#The villa feels too quiet when we step inside, like the walls are holding their breath along with me. Outside, the afternoon light bleeds in soft and golden through the high windows, but it doesn’t warm me. Cass and I end up in the sitting room, across from each other at first, like we’re two strangers who just happened to wander into the same place. My chest feels tight. I’ve been carrying so much in my head since the last conversation, since everything blew open.She tries to smile. It’s small, guilty, almost careful, like she’s afraid even a wrong twitch in her expression will make me explode.“Dorothy, I… I need you to let me explain properly.” Her voice is gentle but rushed, as if she knows she’s already on borrowed time.I don’t nod. I don’t give her the comfort of agreement. My arms cross without me thinking, my eyes narrowing. “Explain what? That you’re Joel’s half-sister? That you’ve been—what?—assigned by Mr. Languini to keep an eye on me like I’m some… some

#Joel’s POV#The next afternoon, the light is sharp in the kind of way that makes your eyes ache. I’m sitting in a corner booth of an uptown café I’ve used for years when I want privacy. Dark leather, dim lamps, staff who know better than to bother. I ordered coffee fifteen minutes ago, haven’t touched it. My phone’s screen is dark beside me, but every few seconds I find myself glancing at it, like I expect something else to blow up in my face before the hour is over.Yesterday was enough to fill a lifetime. Cass’s face when she spoke, Dorothy’s silence after, the things that were said, things I can’t take back. And then the truth. The real truth. I should feel anger. I should feel vindication. Instead, there’s this strange, dry stillness inside me, like all the fights and back-and-forths and grudges have been wrung out and left somewhere else.I gave up on the inheritance the moment I found out there were multiple copies. That was the first time the game my father played became clear