All Chapters of The Fathers of My Child?: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

#Dorothy’s POV#I didn’t cry.That’s something, right?Even though I wanted to. Even though my chest still feels cracked in half from how everything unfolded yesterday. Even though I sat outside at that damned spa villa for hours staring at the hot spring pool and thinking about all the ways I got played like a fool again… I didn’t cry.I just kept telling myself—“you already knew better.”Because deep down, I did.I knew Rico was too good to be true. I knew this whole thing, all of it, from the moment Joel opened his mouth and suggested it, was messed up.Twisted. Inhumane. I knew.But it’s the way he said it.The way Rico made it so clear that money, his failing life, his unfinished business, was his only real concern—that’s what’s killing me now. The way he stared through me like I was another bill he shouldn’t have signed up for.I thought we had something.I thought that night meant something.Turns out it was a glitch in the system.A fucking joke.And I’m the punchline.I spent

#Dorothy’s POV#He’s lucky I didn’t pour hot water on his head this morning.Because it’s been three days of me giving him the silent treatment, ignoring his smug face, and dodging the pitiful eyes he throws me like I’m supposed to be impressed that now—after breaking me, shaming me, humiliating me—he suddenly wants “not the baby anymore. You.”Like I’m meant to weep into his Armani shirt and thank him for choosing me as his grand prize.The audacity.What the hell is wrong with Joel these days?Ever since that day he carried me—my body a bloody mess—to the hospital, something in him snapped. I don’t know what rewired in his brain, but it rewired deep. And maybe it was the fear of losing me. Or the guilt. Or that selfish panic men get when they realize they’re not the center of the universe anymore. But whatever it is, I want no part of it.He doesn’t get to shift into some overprotective wannabe-lover just because things got scary.Let him keep his rewiring.I want peace.And good he

#Dorothy’s POV#Joel is asleep again. On that same raffia-laced chair like he’s homeless and haunted and too damn tired to move. His head leans a little to the left, his lips are parted slightly, and his arms are crossed under the blanket someone must’ve tossed over him. Or maybe not. Maybe he just passed out with the wine, with whatever remnants of me were still lingering from last night. Maybe it’s my scent. My presence.Maybe it’s what we did.I grip my coffee tighter and stare out the window. I don’t know what I expected waking up. An apology? A note? My own sense of peace? My lips twitch as I press two fingers against them and shut my eyes.God.We kissed.Joel kissed me and I let him. I straddled him like some desperate little fool and let his mouth remind me of a time before all the hell he threw me into. And I liked it. That’s the worst part.I liked it.And now, I’m stuck in this space between denial and despair, wondering if I’m more pathetic than I thought.I didn't look ba

#Dorothy's POV#My reflection stares back at me from the vanity mirror, pale, drawn, and so painfully unfamiliar I almost don’t recognize myself. I sit stiffly, hands on my lap, barely blinking. My lips are dry. My chest is tight. The entire room feels like it’s pressing in on me, squeezing every breath through a straw.Rico’s voice keeps playing over and over in my head like a broken cassette stuck on rewind.“You destroyed me for clarity?”“You made out with a man who abused you for years?”“You’re playing both cousins like we're fucking game pieces.”Every single word. Every jab.But the worst part is—I deserved it.I bite my bottom lip hard, until I taste a hint of blood.What was I even defending back there?Why did I open my mouth when I should’ve just… nodded and let him leave?I’m an ungrateful bitch. I really am.He was right. All of it was true.I did go back to Joel.I did let myself feel something I shouldn't.I let Joel touch me. I kissed him. After everything.After all

#Joel’s POV#I see the flash of her name.Cassy.Fussy Cassy.I hiss through my teeth, roll my eyes, and drop my phone back on the counter without even unlocking it. If it’s her, it’s drama. It’s always drama with that woman. And for what? Because I don’t return her texts the moment she sends them? Because she thinks I need “saving” every damn time I go quiet for more than a day?I pour myself another two fingers of whiskey. The glass hits the polished counter with a little too much force.I don’t care.I don’t care about anything anymore.My shirt’s halfway open, wrinkled. My breath tastes like sin and smoke. And all I see when I close my eyes is her.Bleeding. Shaking.Calling my name.Her fingers cold against my palm when I carried her like she weighed nothing.Nothing.Like the kind of nothing you only become after life’s taken every ounce of something you had left.I breathe hard, eyes pinned to the spinning liquid in the glass, but my mind is stuck in the room. That room. That h