God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Nina, too caught up in her own reminiscing, didn't notice the shift in Camila's expression—the way her teasing smirk faded just a fraction, the way her hands tensed ever so slightly at her sides. She just kept talking, too wrapped up in the past to realize that Camila had gone quiet.

"You used to call me all the time back then." Nina went on, her voice softer now, more thoughtful. "You'd tell me how hard it was, how you were struggling to take care of everything all by yourself while that bastard husband of yours was off doing...whatever the hell he thought was more important than his pregnant wife."

Her fingers curled slightly, the old anger bubbling up as if no time had passed at all. "You told me how he barely helped. How he'd leave for work early, come home late, and act like nothing had changed."

"...Meanwhile, you were stuck alone, sick as hell, craving god-knows-what at god-knows-what-hour, dealing with swollen feet, back pain, and a baby kicking you from the inside out."

Nina let out a sharp breath, shaking her head.

"And every time I heard it, I got so damn mad. I wanted to punch him. No—punching wouldn't have been enough. I wanted to grab him by the collar, drag him to your doorstep, and make him see what you were going through."

She crossed her arms, her lips pressing together.

"I even thought about coming to stay with you, y'know? Just packing my bags and moving in for the whole pregnancy. I didn't care if I had to take to close the hotspring, didn't care if it messed up my own life—I just wanted to be there for you. To make sure you weren't alone."

She sighed, the fire in her voice fading just a little.

"But you wouldn't let me." She murmured, casting Camila a side glance. "You told me to stay put because my parents were sick. That I had my own responsibilities, and you'd manage on your own."

There was a pause—a beat of silence heavy with unspoken words. Nina looked down for a moment, before forcing a small, regretful smile.

"I listened to you. But I always hated myself for it. Even now, I still wonder if I should've ignored you and just shown up anyway."

Camila exhaled slowly, but still didn't speak.

Nina didn't take the hint. She pressed on, unaware of the memories she was stirring.

"After hearing everything you went through, I couldn't help but think—what if I ended up in the same situation?" She admitted. "What if I married someone who just...didn't care? Who left me to handle everything alone while he carried on like my suffering was just background noise?"

She let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"I think that's part of why I ranted so much earlier. I was terrified of being treated the way you were. I didn't even realize it until now, but...yeah. That's probably it."

But Nina's chuckle died on her lips as she finally took in Camila's expression—really took it in. The usual sharpness in her best friend's eyes had dulled, replaced by something distant, something...heavy.

A pang of guilt struck her chest.

Ah.

She had overstepped.

Her throat tightened slightly as she quickly backtracked. "Shit. Camila, I—I didn't mean to bring up all that." She said, her voice lower now, laced with quiet regret. "I wasn't thinking. I probably dug up a lot of bad memories for you, didn't I?"

Camila blinked, as if coming back to the present. Then, to Nina's mild surprise, she let out a low chuckle, her lips curling into a small, wry smile.

"No need to feel bad, Nina." She murmured, shaking her head. "Everything you said was true."

Still, her voice was soft—too soft. And when she glanced down at her hands, Nina knew she was sinking into the past.

"For a long time...I really was alone." Camila admitted, her tone casual, like she was recounting something from another life, something that no longer belonged to her. "Pregnancy wasn't just tiring—it was miserable. I felt sick almost every day, my body ached constantly, I couldn't sleep well...And through it all, I barely saw my husband. He was always gone. Always working, always...somewhere else."

Her eyes lowered slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns against the table's surface. "I remember the nights the most. The quiet. How I'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling Bella moving inside me, knowing I was the only one who cared. The only one who was waiting for her."

Nina swallowed, her hands tightening into fists at her sides.

Camila's voice was still so steady. So calm. But that was the thing with Camila—she always spoke like that, no matter what she was feeling inside.

But Nina knew.

She knew how much her best friend had suffered.

And it made her stomach twist with anger all over again.

"Honestly..." Camila continued. "The only thing that got me through all of that was the thought of seeing her. I used to place my hands on my belly and talk to her when no one else was around. I'd tell her, 'Just a little longer, baby. Just a little more, and we'll meet each other.'"

A wistful smile crossed her lips. "I kept telling myself that once she was here, it wouldn't matter anymore. That I wouldn't be alone anymore."

Nina clenched her teeth, her nails digging into her palms.

Damn it.

Damn it.

If only she had ignored Camila's protests and forced her way into her house back then. If only she had been there.

She opened her mouth, about to say something—anything—to make it up to her. But before she could, Camila's expression suddenly shifted.

The sadness faded. The distant look in her eyes disappeared, replaced by something much softer.

Peace.

"…But that was the past." She said simply, exhaling as if letting the memory drift away. "And I know for a fact that something like that will never happen again."

Nina blinked.

Camila turned to her then, her lips curling into something more teasing, more alive.

"I mean, really." She quipped. "Out of all the men in the world, do you honestly think Kafka would ever let his wife be stranded like that?"

Nina's sadness evaporated instantly.

She immediately shook her head—frantically, without hesitation, as if the very idea was absurd.

"No chance in hell!" She declared with absolute confidence.

Camila raised a brow, amused. "Oh? That certain, are we?"

Nina scoffed. "Of course! If anything, he'd do the exact opposite. He'd probably—"

She paused, tilting her head as she thought. Then she snapped her fingers.

"Oh! He'd probably pamper me so much that I wouldn't even have to lift a finger." She said, her voice turning dramatic. "Like, imagine me just trying to stand up, and he'd immediately swoop in like, 'No, no! Sit down! You're pregnant! You mustn't move a single muscle!'"

Camila giggled, shaking her head. "Or..." She added, joining in. "He'd probably try to hand-feed you every single meal, making sure you eat 'nutritious' food while you're carrying his child."

Nina gasped, as if she could see it happening. "Oh god, he totally would."

" 'Here, my dear, eat this soup made of rare herbs and organic vegetables, imported from a country that doesn't even exist yet.' " Camila mocked in a deep, exaggerated voice.

Nina burst into laughter. "And if I dare to refuse, he'd probably get all serious and be like, 'You don't care about our baby's health?!'"

"Or worse." Camila continued. "He'd make sure you never walk anywhere. You'd be carried everywhere like a fragile porcelain doll."

"Like some spoiled princess!" Nina gasped.

Camila smirked. "Oh, definitely. And if you so much as tried to walk down a single flight of stairs—"

"He'd come running in with an entire army of pillows just in case I trip and fall!" Nina finished, laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach.

The two of them were in full hysterics now, their giggles filling the room as they threw ridiculous scenario after ridiculous scenario at each other.

Camila, still grinning from their ridiculous predictions about Kafka's overprotectiveness, then turned to Nina with a more serious but reassuring expression.

Her eyes, steady and warm, held the kind of certainty that could calm even the stormiest of hearts.

"Nina..." She said softly, yet firmly. "You don't need to worry about how your future with Kafka will be."

Nina blinked at her, her laughter slowly dying down as she listened.

"You and I both know." Camila continued. "That we fell for an amazing man. He's younger than us, sure, but that doesn't mean a damn thing."

"...We know his heart. We know his loyalty. There's not a single chance in hell that he'll ever make us regret falling for him."

Something in her tone—so sure, so full of unwavering faith—washed over Nina like a comforting wave.

The last traces of worry, of uncertainty, melted away as a bright smile broke out across her face.

"You're right." She nodded, eyes shining. "I really don't have to worry about anything, do I?"

Camila smirked, reaching over to pat Nina's head. "Nope. Not a thing."

The atmosphere, once serious, lightened once again, and Camila added with a teasing smile.

"And besides, even if by some miracle Kafka does turn into a deadbeat husband—which, let's be honest, is impossible—you still won't be alone."

Nina arched a brow. "Oh?"

"Of course." Camila grinned. "Because I'll be right there with you, taking care of your kids as if they were my own."

Nina's eyes widened slightly before a delighted laugh bubbled out of her. "Wait—does that mean…?"

Camila nodded eagerly, her own excitement growing. "That's right! Technically, I'd also be their mother since I'd also be his wife as well, along with you. Just like you'd be the mother of mine."

The idea settled between them, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, before realization fully hit.

"So—so wait!" Nina gasped, grabbing Camila's hands. "That means your kids will be my kids too! And mine will be yours!"

Camila nodded again, her own excitement matching Nina's. "Exactly! We'll be each other's kids' moms!"

Nina practically squealed, bouncing slightly in place. "Oh my god! That means we're going to have so many children running around! I mean, if we're already planning to have six, and then adding yours, and—"

Camila clapped her hands together, eyes gleaming.

"Imagine the mess! A house full of little troublemakers, running up and down the halls, fighting over toys, sneaking cookies from the kitchen—"

Nina gasped dramatically. "They'll form little teams! Your kids versus mine, fighting epic battles with pillows and building fortresses out of couch cushions!"

Camila smirked. "And then, when we finally catch them, they'll all blame each other."

Nina groaned, already feeling the future headache. "Ugh, that means we'll have to deal with the whining. 'It was him, Mom!' 'No, she started it!'"

Camila laughed. "And we'll have to play detective every time someone cries."

"Oh god, and the pranks!" Nina said, her eyes widening. "They'll be little devils! If they're anything like Kafka, they're going to be pulling tricks on us left and right!"

Camila sighed dramatically. "We'll never have peace."

The two women erupted into excited chatter, imagining their home filled with the laughter of many children, running around, playing together, growing up as one big family.

It was a future that neither of them had ever truly considered before, but now that the idea had been planted, it was taking root fast. The sheer joy of the thought was intoxicating.

Then, just as Nina was about to exclaim something else, her words caught in her throat.

Because she finally noticed Abigaille.

And she was crying.

Not just misty-eyed or slightly emotional.

She was outright sobbing.

Silently, but uncontrollably, her hands covering her face as she tried to wipe away the tears that kept falling.

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The sight instantly erased all excitement from both Nina and Camila, who were wondering if all the members of the Vanitas family were having a really emotional day, seeing as to how both mother and son started crying out of nowhere with no reason whatsoever...