My Daddy Lactates Too novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: The Stain
Three weeks ago, I started soaking through my shirts.
Not with sweat—with milk.
No pregnancy, no baby, nothing to explain it.
One day I woke up with my breasts swollen and my pajama top stuck to my skin, warm and sweet.
I thought I was dying.
Ever since, I'd been living with pads inside my bra and shame down to the roots of my hair.
I was twenty-one years old.
I'd just started psychology at the university, after two years at a call center in San Pedro de Macorís to pay for my first semester.
I was tall, with long legs, a pretty face, and a chest that had been causing me trouble since I was thirteen.
The guys in my classes talked to me, invited me out, texted me.
I didn't go out with any of them.
Because how do you explain to a guy that when he kisses you, you might start dripping?
That Saturday afternoon, my best friend Nahomi was turning twenty-one.
We were throwing her a party at the apartment in Gazcue.
I rented a room there for half of what it was worth, because the apartment belonged to her dad.
Ramón Almonte was forty-one years old.
He was a widower and owned an air conditioning repair shop.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick mustache and the hands of a man who'd spent his life lifting compressors.
I respected him and feared him a little, the way you fear something too big.
That afternoon, while Nahomi ran to pick up the cake, he came into my room with a toolbox.
"Mija, your AC is broken," he said. "It's leaking inside. Let me fix it before people start arriving."
"Thank you, don Ramón."
"Use tú with me, you're making me feel old."
I smiled.
"Thank you, Ramón."
He climbed onto a chair and started unscrewing the cover of the unit, right above my bed.
I stood by the dresser, wearing a white cotton blouse, arms crossed.
It was hot as hell.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm.
His t-shirt clung to his back, showing off every muscle.
I caught myself staring at him.
And my body reacted before I did.
I felt that hot pull in my chest, that tingling I knew too well, and I knew what was coming.
"No," I whispered. "Not now."
Too late.
Two round, dark stains bloomed on my white blouse, right at my nipples.
I covered myself with my hands.
Ramón turned around.
He saw me.
He froze on the chair, screwdriver in hand.
I wanted to die.
"I'm sorry," I said, my face burning. "Sorry, I... this isn't what it looks like. It's a thing I have, a condition, I..."
He climbed down from the chair.
Slowly, without letting go of the screwdriver, and set it on the dresser.
He took both my wrists gently and lowered my hands.
The stains were still there, damp, spreading.
I braced for a grimace of disgust.
It didn't come.
He looked at my chest with a dark, serious attention that wasn't a doctor's.
"How long?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
"Three weeks."
"Have you seen a doctor?"
"I don't dare."
"Have you told anyone?"
"No."
"Not even Nahomi?"
"No one."
He nodded slowly.
He raised his hand—that wide, calloused hand—and ran his thumb over the stain on my left breast, over the damp fabric.
It was the lightest touch.
It shot through my whole body like an electric shock.
A gasp escaped me.
He heard it too, and his jaw tightened.
With his thumb, he traced the edge of the stain, slowly, until he reached my nipple.
The fabric was cold and my skin was on fire.
I felt my knees go weak.
"Ramón," I said, my voice barely coming out. "You're my friend's dad."
"I know."
"You shouldn't..."
"I know."
But he didn't pull away.
He touched me again, with his fingertip, in circles, until my breasts grew harder and the milk soaked through my blouse.
A warm trickle ran down beneath the fabric, all the way to my waist.
He followed it with his eyes.
They were gleaming.
"This isn't a sickness, mami," he said, low. "Or if it is, it doesn't look ugly to me."
I couldn't breathe.
With his other hand, he wrapped around my waist and pulled me against his chest.
I felt his breath on my forehead, his smell of sweat, metal, and man's soap.
"Tell me to leave," he whispered.
I didn't say it.
In the hallway, the front door swung open, and Nahomi's voice cut through the whole apartment:
"Daddy! Yadira! The cake is here!"
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