WORSHIPPED BY MY DAD'S BESTFRIEND 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 71 - 챕터 80

SAESHA POV The living room was a mess of toys. Stuffed animals, rattles, a plastic truck that squeaked every time it moved — all scattered across the rug like a minefield. And right in the middle of it sat our son. Eight months old. Chunky cheeks, wild hair that wouldn’t stay down, eyes as stormy and stubborn as Alex’s. He slapped his little palms against the floor, babbling nonsense, his gummy mouth wide in a grin. “Bean,” I cooed, clapping my hands to get his attention. “Come to Mama.” He squealed but stayed put, kicking his legs, more interested in trying to gnaw on the ear of his stuffed bear. I sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch. “He doesn’t love me anymore. Only his toys.” Alex’s laugh rumbled from the kitchen doorway. “Relax, baby. He’s just plotting.” I glanced over my shoulder. He stood there in a black T-shirt and sweatpants, hair damp from his shower, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. His eyes sparkled as he watched our son. “Plotting what?” I asked

SAESHA POV The car ride was hell. I cradled our son in the back seat, my arms trembling from holding him too tightly, my tears still drying on my cheeks. He’d stopped crying now, lulled by the motion, but every soft hiccup made my chest tighten again. Alex drove like a man possessed. His knuckles were white on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the road as if sheer focus could undo what happened. “Saesha,” he said finally, his voice low, rough. “He’s fine. I checked him. No bruises, no swelling—” “He fell, Alex,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “He hit the ground because of your stupid—” My throat closed, too tight to finish. Silence filled the car, thick and heavy. When we pulled into Clara’s clinic, she was already waiting at the door, her white coat fluttering as she hurried out. “What happened?” I rushed forward, clutching my son to my chest. “He fell—Alex made some running pram thing and—and he tripped—and he cried—” My voice cracked, tears threatening again. Clara’

SAESHA POV The ride home from Clara’s clinic felt different. Our son — Elian now, not just Bean — was fast asleep in his car seat, his tiny fists curled against his cheeks. Every bump in the road made me peek back at him, just to be sure he was still breathing, still safe. Alex drove one-handed, his other resting on my thigh, thumb tracing circles absentmindedly. His face was unreadable, somewhere between calm and calculating, but when we pulled into the driveway and carried Elian upstairs, he softened instantly. I settled onto the bed, cradling Elian against me. He stirred, whining softly, rooting. I sighed, tugging down my neckline. “Alright, baby. Mama’s got you.” He latched, suckling, but slower than usual. Alex leaned against the dresser, arms folded, watching intently. “He’s not drinking as much.” I frowned, adjusting him. “He’s distracted. He’ll finish.” But Alex shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “No. He’s slowing down. Your milk’s less now, isn’t it?” Hea

SAESHA POV Clara strapped Elian into his carrier, humming softly as he hiccupped, his tiny fists still clenching from his midnight tantrum. “You two,” she said, wagging a finger at us with a grin, “are officially the craziest couple I know. Married in pajamas? Dragging me out at one in the morning? And this little guy as the witness?” She winked, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. “But since I love you — and because I’m not letting your ‘wedding night’ get ruined — he’s coming with me.” I blinked. “Wait—what?” Clara smirked, already walking toward the door. “Don’t look so horrified. He’ll be fine. He’s nine months, he’ll sleep through at mine just like here. You two—” she waved her hand dramatically “—need tonight.” I stared, heat flooding my cheeks. “Clara—” But Alex was already grinning, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched. He took two steps toward me, sliding his hand onto the small of my back. “She’s right,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “We do need tonight.” Clara s

SAESHA POV The shower steamed hot around me, the water trailing down my skin in rivulets. For months, every time I’d stepped in here, the spray had been mixed with something else — milk leaking down my chest, soaking me no matter how careful I was. But tonight… nothing. I pressed my palms to my breasts, squeezing lightly. Just soft flesh, swollen but dry. My throat tightened. It was supposed to be a relief — no more ruined shirts, no more waking up in damp sheets. But instead, it made my chest ache with something sharp, almost grief. Is he really done needing me like that? I remembered Alex’s words — cocky, possessive, but edged with fear. So soon? Already? Tears blurred my eyes, mixing with the shower spray. Elian was almost nine months old. Crawling, babbling, eating solids. My baby was growing, and I was proud, so proud — but I still wanted to be needed. I leaned my forehead against the tile, whispering to myself. “Mama’s still here, baby. Even if you don’t need me like