All Chapters of The Fathers of My Child?: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

#Dorothy’s POV#Something brushes my lips.Warm. Soft. Barely there but undeniably real.I’m not fully conscious, but it pulls me out of the fog. A slow inhale scratches through my throat as my limbs stay glued to the soft surface under me. My mind floats, weightless in this dark bubble I can’t seem to wake from.I feel a presence beside me; a tall, still one, breathing slowly.Then something slithers by my ear. A whisper."Why would you still have hope in me, you foolish woman? Is it true? You really… you really still see something worth hoping for in me? Everyday, I’m annoyed. Angry. Frustrated. With you. With your incompetence. With this marriage. With this task I married you for. And you… you still hope?"My brows twitch faintly. A silent shiver passes through me. But I can’t move.The presence steps away, fades. I’m alone again.When my eyes finally blink open, the dull ceiling light is blurry. Pale cream walls. The chilly air from an AC. I take in a slow, shallow breath.Everyth

#Dorothy’s POV#When the car slows to a stop in front of the villa, I don’t even wait for Rico to open the door before pushing it gently and getting out. I can feel him watching me. He wants to help me out, to support my body like he’s been doing since we left the clinic, but I raise a hand to stop him.“I’m fine,” I mumble.He doesn’t move or speak. He just stands there with his hands hidden in his pockets like he’s holding back everything. I don't care.Two of the maids rush over once we reach the steps. Rico quietly tells them to help me upstairs and they nod. Their hands are steady and kind, but mine shake as I lean on them, every step a drag, every breath a reminder of the emptiness beneath my ribs. A space where something once lived. Or tried to.We pass the stairs.My eyes flick upward, out of habit, almost searching for something. For someone.“Where is he?” I ask the maids before I can stop myself.“Mr. Joel?” one of them answers timidly. “He’s in his study. He came in this m

#Dorothy's POV#I don’t even know how I dragged myself into this kitchen.Last night, I spent it coiled on the cold floor of the art room, with oil paint dried on my legs, my palms, and my clothes. No one came looking for me. No one knocked. And that made me weirdly thankful. And painfully alone. The kind of alone that crawls under your skin and lives in your lungs like oxygen. At one point, I heard Rico call my name, gently, like he was scared I’d answer. I didn’t. I closed my eyes and let the ache grow.Maids came with food. I didn’t touch a bite.I stayed there until 3AM. Then I crawled back to my room, peeled off the paint-crusted sweater and slid into the bath. The water didn’t help. It couldn’t reach whatever part of me felt bruised. I’m dressed now. Something big and gray. A grandma’s sweater and baggy pants. I feel like a woman who’s already buried too much of herself to bother trying anymore.But my body still moves.It brought me here.And now I’m standing at the entrance of

#Dorothy’s POV#The wind here doesn’t smell like the villa. It’s not perfumed with citrus or lemon balm or maid-sprayed vanilla. It’s just… clean, cold, too natural. And this place is stunning.The car hadn’t even fully stopped when I noticed the walls were glass, the ceilings slanted like waves. Nature swallows the whole thing, like the estate was dropped here quietly to avoid disturbing the trees around it. Inside, it’s almost too calm. Open-plan everything, warm lights, wide windows, clean linens and two white robes on a bamboo stand near the door. There’s soft instrumental jazz playing from nowhere. Or maybe it’s just in my head.The air smells like wet wood. The kind you only get in places like this.And outside, just beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass panels, there’s a hot spring pool. Actual steam curls off its surface like something out of a fairy tale. I stare at it for a few seconds too long. It makes me feel too many things—things I don’t want to feel, like softness, vulnera

#Joel’s POV#I haven’t slept.Not even a wink.I tried. I really did. But every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Rico on top of her. Every damn version of it. Her legs wrapped around him, her mouth open in that shaky gasp she made the other night in the hallway. Her nails in his back. Him grunting into her skin. Her moaning like I never heard her moan for me.The fucked-up part? I didn’t even see it. I couldn’t. I turned off the livestream the second she climbed into his lap. I slammed the laptop shut like it was burning my hands. But that didn’t stop my brain. That didn’t stop my own personal hell from playing over and over and over again like it had a damn remote and was stuck on repeat.So now I’m standing in front of my mirror, buttons half-done, shirt wrinkled, tie discarded to the floor. I look like a ghost. My eyes are sunken, my face pale. I can’t believe I’m about to step out into the world like this. But I have to. The company won’t run itself. Or maybe it’s already not