All Chapters of The Fathers of My Child?: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

#Dorothy’s POV#I wake up with a soft grunt, my joints making themselves known again. My eyes are crusty from the nap but my mouth tastes less bitter than it did before I slept, so that’s good enough. I take my time, change into fresh clothes, pull a light cardigan over my shoulders even though it’s warm outside, and drag my feet into my slippers. My body doesn’t feel too heavy. That’s a good sign too.Still, I glance at the mirror once. My lips are pale. My eyes are sunken. But there’s a bit of softness under them this morning. A calm I haven’t felt in a while. Rico did that. As he always tries to.When I’m finally done getting ready, I head downstairs but the villa feels quiet. I check the kitchen. Nothing. Living room. Empty. Backyard? No Rico. Weird. I head back inside and call him.He picks on the third ring.“Hey,” I say, walking into the corridor slowly. “Where are you?”“Went out,” he says, his voice slightly distracted. “Just needed to clear my head. I’m at Pizza Hut now, gra

#Dorothy’s POV#The call comes in just as I finish brushing my teeth. I’m still in my robe, hair half-brushed, the morning sun peeking lazily through the villa blinds. I answer it on speaker, leaning against the sink.“Mrs. Hernandez,” Dr. Malik’s voice is clear and calm like usual, but something’s… off. “I wanted to go over your labs from yesterday. I had them rushed.”I pause. My heart folds. “Okay. What’s the result?”He sighs. “Your white blood cell count has tanked again. Severely this time. It’s risky to continue chemotherapy as scheduled.”I grip the sink harder. “So you’re pausing it?”“Yes. We have no choice. Your immunity’s already dangerously low. If we push more toxins through your system now, it’ll… it could break it down beyond recovery.”The silence feels like someone just threw a drenched blanket over my soul. I lower the speaker volume and sit slowly on the bathroom counter.“But I was just… last week you said I was stabilizing,” I whisper.“I know. These shifts can b

#Dorothy’s POV#So, Joel didn’t come home last night.What else is new?One minute he’s showing up at the clinic like he actually gives a damn, trying to dominate the conversation and act like a hero. Then the next, he vanishes without so much as a check-in. Just one stupid text that landed sometime around midnight, saying he’ll be early at the clinic today. “Don’t stress. I’ll be there early.” That's what he wrote.And yet… here I am again. Still sick. Still trying to keep my feet under me. Still alone.The air feels dense as I step out of Rico’s car. Maybe it’s the humidity or just the usual early morning hospital hush, where even the birds seem to lower their chirps. I breathe through the rising nausea in my stomach. My body is heavier than usual this morning. My neck aches, and something behind my eyes is throbbing.I grab onto the car door to steady myself, telling myself I’m fine. Just another scan. Just another day of pretending I’ve got this.But then—The concrete tilts sidew

#Dorothy’s POV#I jolt awake, gasping like I’ve been drowning. My throat burns. My shirt’s stuck to my back, my chest is pounding so hard I feel it in my gums.The air feels heavy, still.And my room… it’s dark. The kind of dark that eats sound.It takes a few seconds for me to realize where I am. My eyes dart to the door, the nightlight near the dresser, the faint rumble outside.There’s thunder coming.But that’s not what woke me.It was the dream. That one. Again.It’s always the same—me on that hospital bed, tubes down my throat, eyes wide open but no one hearing me. They’re all there: Joel, the doctors, my mom, sometimes even Rico now. They’re talking about me like I’m furniture. Like I’m an incubator. Like I’m not there. And I’m screaming. But no sound comes out.I touch my belly. It's flat. But it doesn't feel empty.I sit up, wiping the sweat from my face. My fingers tremble. I try to slow my breathing, but it’s already spiraling again. That rising sense of helplessness, like

#Dorothy’s POV#Of course they were nose to nose this morning. Rico and Joel. Again. I’d barely gotten out of my room and already my day was half ruined. The sight of two grown men nearly headbutting each other in a kitchen over God knows what was both ridiculous and exhausting. I didn't even have the energy to scold them properly. They were like two aggressive rams who refused to realize the whole world was tired of their endless butting.Now, I'm in Rico's car, heading to the hospital for yet another scan. The morning sun is starting to stretch out but my mood’s still sore.Rico’s at the wheel, fingers tapping the steering. There’s a rap song playing, something loud and punchy. Sounds like it’s from New Orleans, maybe underground, full of slang and rhythm I can’t fully catch. I glance at him. His lips are moving, mouthing every word—no, not mouthing. He’s rapping. Actually rapping. Bar for bar. Flow smooth, head nodding, while his fingers drum on the steering like he made the beat h