All Chapters of WORSHIPPED BY MY DAD'S BESTFRIEND : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

SAESHA POV The smell of frosting, balloons, and baby lotion — that was our house today. Aira and Aran’s first birthday. I’d spent half the morning stringing up pastel garlands across the living room while Alex wrestled with an arch of golden balloons that refused to cooperate. Elian was in charge of sprinkles, which quickly turned into a sprinkle explosion. “Buddy!” Alex laughed, brushing rainbow dots off his shirt. “Not on me!” Elian giggled uncontrollably. “It’s decoration, Papa!” I shook my head, laughing as I spread icing on the cake. “You said you wanted help,” I reminded Alex. “Help, yes. Chaos, no,” he said, pulling a sprinkle from his hair. “Same thing in this house,” I teased. --- Clara arrived first — her arms full of gifts and her smile soft and proud. She’d been there through everything: the panic, the hospital nights, the tiny victories. Seeing her now, holding Aira in one arm and Aran in the other, made my chest ache with gratitude. “You two are miracles,”

SAESHA POV It started with a wobble. Aira had been standing on her own for weeks, balancing on anything she could find — the coffee table, my leg, even the back of poor Aran, who tolerated her antics with saintly patience. But that morning, while I was folding laundry and Alex was fixing something in the kitchen, she decided it was time. She pushed herself up, swaying slightly, eyes wide and bright. Aran clapped once, like a proud little cheerleader. Then—one step. A shaky second. A third. And boom. Down she went, straight onto her padded bottom. The sound that followed wasn’t crying — it was laughter. Loud, delighted, triumphant baby laughter. Alex came rushing in. “What happened?” I was already grinning. “She walked.” He froze, eyes wide. “No way. Wait—she did? Without me?” Before I could answer, Aira pulled herself up again and took two more steps toward him, arms out like a tiny superhero. Alex crouched down, laughing. “Okay, okay, I see you! Come here, brave girl

SAESHA POV By the time we got home, the house smelled of sunshine and grass. Elian was covered in streaks of dried mud, Aran had a streak of bubble soap in his hair, and Aira had somehow managed to collect half the park’s leaves in her dress. “Straight to the bathroom,” I ordered, trying not to laugh. Alex carried Aira under one arm like a giggling football, while I scooped up Aran and Elian trudged behind us, muttering, “Bubbles are hard work.” “Worth it though,” Alex said, tossing him a wink. Elian grinned sleepily. “Because I’m best teacher.” “Yes,” I said. “The very best.” --- Bath time was its usual hurricane. Foam everywhere, laughter echoing off the tiles, three sets of hands trying to splash Papa. “Not fair!” Alex yelled, dodging a wave. “Outnumbered again!” Elian cackled, pointing his tiny bath toy like a weapon. “Surrender, Papa!” “Never!” I leaned against the doorway, laughing, heart swelling at the sight — my world, right there, dripping wet and perfect.

SAESHA POV The house looked like a candy hurricane had hit it. Wrappers everywhere, glitter from the costumes ground into the rug, tiny bat wings tossed over the couch. Somewhere under a blanket fort on the living room floor, a muffled groan emerged. “Mamaaa…” I peeked in to find Elian lying upside down, chocolate on his cheek, cape still on. “My tummy’s broken,” he moaned dramatically. I bit back a laugh. “Too many treats, Captain Fang?” He covered his eyes. “Never eating candy again. Ever.” “Until next Halloween?” He peeked through his fingers. “Maybe just one lollipop.” From the playpen, Aira and Aran were both wide awake—Aira chewing on an empty candy wrapper and Aran poking at a half-squished chocolate bar like it might still be alive. “Please tell me those are empty,” Alex muttered from the hallway, his voice gravelly with sleep. “They were,” I said dryly. “Now they’re souvenirs.” He stumbled into the room, hair a mess, wearing one of my hoodies. “Coffee,” he gro

SAESHA POV Saturday mornings have their own music. The clatter of pans. A sleepy “Mamaaa, breakfast?” from the hallway. And, today, a declaration that nearly made me choke on my coffee. Elian burst into the kitchen wearing his superhero cape backward and holding a wooden spoon like a microphone. “Family talent show! Everyone has to play! Even babies!” Alex blinked at him from behind the newspaper. “A what now?” “A talent show, Papa,” Elian said patiently, as if explaining gravity. “We show what we can do best. I can sing and dance. Mama can cook. Papa can… fix things. Babies can crawl fast.” Alex lowered the paper, a grin forming. “And who’s the judge?” Elian puffed out his chest. “Me. I’m the judge and the star.” “Convenient,” I muttered, trying not to laugh. --- The living room became a stage within minutes. Blankets for curtains. Aira and Aran’s toy drums set up like a band. Elian drew tickets out of old receipts and handed them to us solemnly. “No