บททั้งหมดของ The Fathers of My Child?: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

#Rico’s POV#Sometimes Rico feels like his life isn’t his anymore.Not his body. Not his hours. Not his thoughts. Not even his heartbeat.It’s all tied to someone who doesn’t belong to him.He’s sitting in the car with Dorothy still in his arms, and he doesn’t even realize they’ve been parked in front of the villa for almost three minutes now. He’s just… holding her. Because she passed out in the elevator, and he carried her down without a second thought, and somewhere along the way, he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to care this much.He forgot that this isn’t Paulina.He forgot that he’s not her husband.He forgot that he’s not supposed to feel so damn responsible.“Rico,” she murmurs, stirring against him. “You can put me down now. I can walk. I’m not dizzy anymore.”He blinks, startled. Then glances down. He hadn’t even noticed she was awake. “Shit, sorry,” he says.He gently shifts her off his lap and helps her sit upright. Her skin is still pale but her eyes are clearer.He open

#Rico’s POV#She was just sitting there.On the cold tile floor, her knees tucked up to her chest and her back slumped against the tub. Her eyes were open but dead. Staring at something on the ground I couldn’t even see. I had pushed her door gently at first, just enough to peek, but when I didn’t see her in bed, panic had cracked through my ribs like glass. That was what led me to the bathroom, that gut feeling, that instinct that something wasn’t right.And God, it wasn’t.There was no blood this time, thank God. At least not like last night. Was I scared when I walked into that bathroom last night? Hell yeah. She was bleeding. Shaking. There was hair on the floor. Mirror smashed. But I didn’t see her as broken. I saw her as someone trying to survive the intensity of something no one prepares for. Cancer isn’t soft. It chews you. And she’s still standing. Still breathing. I just wish she could see what I see. Give herself a little grace. But something was bleeding. Inside her. I s

#Joel’s POV#It’s quiet down here. Cold, too.The kind of cold that starts in your chest and just doesn’t go away no matter how many times you pace or how much wine you pour. I’ve lost count of the number of steps I’ve taken. Or the number of times I’ve stared at this stupid paper like it’s going to rewrite itself and suddenly make sense.I hate this letter.It’s in my hand, a single page that feels like a loaded gun pointed straight at my face.“Patient: Dorothy A. Hernandez. Result: Significant drop in LH and FSH levels post first round of chemo. Cortisol markers indicate chronic distress. Recommendation: Urgent reevaluation. Discussion of risk mitigation for further fertility compromise. Addressed to: Mr. Joel Hernandez, spouse and emergency contact.”I almost laugh. Emergency contact, my ass. As if anyone even contacts me anymore. She doesn’t. Rico sure as hell doesn’t. Not unless he wants to lecture me about how to be a better man.The wine bottle’s open. Half empty. I don’t

#Rico’s POV#I don’t even know this villa had a gym until today.It’s in one of those quiet wings no one really uses; the ones Joel insists are “too modern” and clean. Everything’s white and glass and echoey in here, but I don’t care. I need this.I wrap my knuckles tighter and slam my fists into the hanging bag, again, again, again, and again. The thud vibrates in my elbows but I welcome it. I need it to distract me. I need it to bury the stuff bubbling up inside.Why am I doing all this for her?Dorothy’s asked me, over and over. She’s not dumb. She sees how much I’m doing and how little I’m saying.And I keep playing it cool. Saying it’s nothing.But it’s not nothing.Because the truth is—I don’t know why I’m doing all this. Or maybe I do.Maybe it’s guilt.I hit harder. Let my breathing get ragged.I’ve been a shit person most of my life. I don’t even need Joel or Paulina to remind me. I know.Atlanta. New York. Even before then. My history’s not clean. Not even close.I can’t for

#Dorothy’s POV#I wake up panting.My body’s hot, my skin’s clammy, and my heart’s racing like I’d been running through fire in my sleep. My nightdress is twisted around my thigh and my bandaged fingers are clenched so tight I have to peel them open, one by one. My eyes sting and my throat’s sore like I’ve been screaming.Because I had been. In my dreams. I can’t remember all of it, but there was fire. Screams. Joel’s voice. Blood on my hands. Rico yelling. And then black.I felt trapped again. Like everything I’d been pushing down came back up all at once; all the anger, shame and fear came rushing back. Even in my sleep, I couldn’t escape it.I sit up slowly, blinking at the faint orange smear bleeding in from behind the curtains. Dawn. I hadn’t even gotten two full hours of sleep. Not after what happened last night.What Joel said keeps circling. How he called me a curse, said my body was spiritually tainted. Like I brought this on myself. Like being sick is a punishment. And then…