All Chapters of The Fathers of My Child?: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

#Rico’s POV#I zip the small bag with a long sigh. It’s barely got much inside—just the essentials. A shirt. Jeans. A power bank. Toothbrush. My hoodie. One I actually stole from Victor’s place months ago but never returned.The garage is still dim, just peeks of early sunlight sneaking in through the high windows, painting thin shadows across the walls. My breath fogs a little, it’s colder than usual this morning. Or maybe that’s just me.I rub my palm down my face, slowly. I didn’t sleep. Not a damn wink.I kept replaying Dorothy’s head in my lap, the way her voice shook when she said she wouldn’t stop me this time. The way I almost kissed her. And the way I didn’t. Because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to leave this morning.But I have to. Even if it kills me. I have to go.It’s not just about space. It’s about breath. I can’t breathe here. Not properly. Not when every hallway holds a memory. Not when Joel is still Joel and every damn second I spend near Dorothy I start think

#Joel’s POV#The first thing I hear is Malik’s voice. It's cautiously trying to coat the mess in sugar. My Bluetooth’s already on, I’m hunched over numbers from Germany, and the second I hear, “Joel, I need to speak with you urgently about Dorothy’s records,” I feel my entire body go still.I sit up, keeping my voice cold. “What about them?”There’s a pause. The kind that stretches longer than necessary. The kind that tells me he knows I won’t like what he’s about to say.“There was a breach,” he says finally. “Three weeks ago. An anonymous user with system-level access altered her medical chart.”I stand from my desk, knocking my coffee over the report.“Altered what exactly?”“Someone added a positive pregnancy result. It was falsified.”“You’re joking.” My voice is flat. Deadly.“I’m not. We’ve already flagged the entry and locked it. But Dorothy knows—”“What?” I shout into the speaker.My PA, who’s just come in with my schedule notes, freezes.“She knows? Who told her? You?”Mali

#Dorothy’s POV#I don’t even notice how long I’ve been sitting here. The water that was once warm has gone cold, and the sponge in my hand… I’m gripping it so tightly my knuckles are pale.I drag it across my arm again. And again. Harder.I’ve been scrubbing like I’m trying to erase layers of myself. As if the more I scrub, the more the memory of him will go with it. The sting on my skin is sharp, raw, but I don’t stop. I can't stop. My chest rises and falls steadily, but there are no tears left. I think I cried them all out in the garden. Now it’s just this… eerie emptiness sitting like a rock on my chest.My thigh burns as I go over the same spot again. Red. Raw. But still not enough.Why would someone lie about something like that? A pregnancy? A damn pregnancy? What kind of person takes something so… pure, so sacred, and turns it into a joke? Into some sick little emotional manipulation?I close my eyes and picture that altered chart. I didn’t even see it with my own eyes, but it

#Dorothy’s POV#The coffee is lukewarm.The toast is burnt at the edges.The eggs are bland.But I keep chewing. Bite after bite. Bite after fucking bite.I don’t know why I’m eating, honestly. I don’t think I’m hungry.I just… I don’t want to think.There’s a silence that's settled over the villa this morning. A choking one. Almost like the air doesn’t want to move, like it knows something’s wrong and it doesn’t want to get involved. My head is pounding, and my body feels like it’s been buried alive. I haven’t slept, not really. Just stared at the ceiling, then stared at the wall, then stared at nothing.My eyes are sunken, I can feel them. My eyelids twitch every time I blink. My tongue feels dry. There’s still soap smell in my nostrils from last night. From scrubbing my skin raw in that tub. I’d seen a patch of red near my elbow this morning in the mirror. I didn’t care. I didn’t put lotion.I just came down. Sat at this damn table. And started eating.I wish I could disappear into

#Dr. Malik’s POV#The AC hums too loud in this car, but I don’t touch the dial. I don’t even blink. I just sit behind the wheel, eyes fixed ahead, mind heavier than my hands on the steering.This shouldn’t be happening.Not like this.When Rico messaged to meet—“Off-site. Urgent. About Dorothy.”—I knew this day would come. Hell, I’d seen it coming. Like headlights in my rearview, gaining speed. Now it’s here, and I can’t even tell the full truth. Not because I don’t want to. But because the truth in this case… is not clearcut, overlapping, and too volatile to land on anyone safely.Especially not her. Especially not Dorothy Rain-Hernandez.God knows she’s already been sliced open enough.I tap the folder beside me on the passenger seat. Thick. Heavy. Not just with papers, but secrets.Because this isn’t just a medical situation anymore. This is war.And I’m stuck in the middle.Doctor first. Always. But sometimes that means lying to keep someone alive.And right now, I’m lying.To Joe