My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care.
Richard stood frozen, a glass of milk in his hand, completely thrown off by the sight of me fresh out of the shower. His eyes darted away, then snapped back as if pulled by some invisible force.
"Y-you just showered?"
My heart stuttered.
Instinctively, I clutched the towel tighter against my chest—no bra underneath. A quick glance down confirmed the worst: the thin fabric clung, revealing far too much.
How much had he seen?
My voice came out rough, flustered. "Yeah. I was about to sleep."
He set the milk down with a quiet clink and turned his back to me, shoulders stiff. "Vivian, put some clothes on first."
I swallowed hard, shrugging into a robe as my pulse slowed. "It's late. Did you need something, Dad?"
Only when he was sure I was covered did he face me again, dragging a chair over but keeping a careful gap between us. He sighed, rubbing his rough, work-worn hands together.
"Vivian, your mother-in-law's always been... difficult. Don't let it get to you." His voice was gruff but gentle. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a thick stack of bills and slid it across the table. "I've been saving this up in Manchester. Take it."
My breath caught.
Eighty thousand dollars, at least.
And here he was, wearing a ratty tank top that probably cost less than a cup of coffee. This man who counted every penny was handing me everything he had.
"Dad, I can't accept this."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my hands already pushing the money back.
Richard's tanned face flushed red with stubborn urgency. He caught my wrist. "You're out of work, and Eric's barely scraping by. Now's when you need it—no arguments!"
I shook my head, trying to press the cash into his palm. "We have savings. You've done enough—please, keep it."
"Who else would I work for if not you kids?"
As we struggled over the money, his calloused fingers wrapped completely around my wrist. A jolt shot through me, electric and unexpected, straight to my core.
Heat rushed under my skin.
This was the first time we'd ever touched.
"Dad—"
My voice came out husky, and he jerked back like I'd burned him. His ears turned scarlet. The poor man fumbled over his words.
"I-I should go. Get some rest."
Just brushing my skin had terrified him.
Hard to believe this man had gone years—decades—without a woman's touch.
He bolted from my room like he was escaping the gallows.
I stared at the empty doorway, my chest tight with something I couldn't name.
"Y-you just showered?"
My heart stuttered.
Instinctively, I clutched the towel tighter against my chest—no bra underneath. A quick glance down confirmed the worst: the thin fabric clung, revealing far too much.
How much had he seen?
My voice came out rough, flustered. "Yeah. I was about to sleep."
He set the milk down with a quiet clink and turned his back to me, shoulders stiff. "Vivian, put some clothes on first."
I swallowed hard, shrugging into a robe as my pulse slowed. "It's late. Did you need something, Dad?"
Only when he was sure I was covered did he face me again, dragging a chair over but keeping a careful gap between us. He sighed, rubbing his rough, work-worn hands together.
"Vivian, your mother-in-law's always been... difficult. Don't let it get to you." His voice was gruff but gentle. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a thick stack of bills and slid it across the table. "I've been saving this up in Manchester. Take it."
My breath caught.
Eighty thousand dollars, at least.
And here he was, wearing a ratty tank top that probably cost less than a cup of coffee. This man who counted every penny was handing me everything he had.
"Dad, I can't accept this."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my hands already pushing the money back.
Richard's tanned face flushed red with stubborn urgency. He caught my wrist. "You're out of work, and Eric's barely scraping by. Now's when you need it—no arguments!"
I shook my head, trying to press the cash into his palm. "We have savings. You've done enough—please, keep it."
"Who else would I work for if not you kids?"
As we struggled over the money, his calloused fingers wrapped completely around my wrist. A jolt shot through me, electric and unexpected, straight to my core.
Heat rushed under my skin.
This was the first time we'd ever touched.
"Dad—"
My voice came out husky, and he jerked back like I'd burned him. His ears turned scarlet. The poor man fumbled over his words.
"I-I should go. Get some rest."
Just brushing my skin had terrified him.
Hard to believe this man had gone years—decades—without a woman's touch.
He bolted from my room like he was escaping the gallows.
I stared at the empty doorway, my chest tight with something I couldn't name.
End of My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care book page.