×𝕺𝖓𝖊-𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖙 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐×

ₘᵢgᵤₑₗ ₒ'ₕₐᵣₐ ₓ ᵣₑₐdₑᵣ

⚠️: luckily for yall, there's no warnings!! Besides maybe smut in later parts, but nothing heavy 😋.

PLOT: Dilf Divorced Miguel😍

♡°•NOTES•°♡
Words:1677 words.

I've seen a fic or two about this kind of scenario, but they all move so fast😭
like no, I'm sure a stressed divorcee father would just start manhandling you on your first day of work. THIS WAS NOT PROOFREAD.

Give it some time, let the tension riseee... so yall probably know it's gonna be a slowburn by now👍

You are 22 y/o in this, he is uhh..
34..... 😩

Gabriella is 6 👍👍

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...𝙐𝙜𝙝𝙝...

You don't know the last time you've slept, I think Saturday?
It's Thursday night,
You've been stressing to find a job so you can pay off your student loans.
'Look, once you get your bachelor's degree; you'll be able to find a job to pay this off quickly!"

Yeah, in another 2 years.
Looking over your shoulder, you scan the old clock adorning your dresser reading the time.

3:57 AM

' Shit, I need to get to bed.'
You thought, Slowly dragging your hand to your computers power button and shutting it off. Slinging yourself off your chair, you slowly walk to your bed.

The dim light, your already poor vision from brain fog, and lack of sleep was pulling your eyelids shut before you could even reach your bed.
Shuffling into, and under the covers of your bed; you sluggishly reach over and yank down the string connected to your lamp.

Yawning, you doze off into a dreamless sleep.

\___________________________________/

???'s POV:

The sound of glass slightly clanking makes my ears perk up, pulling me from the thoughts that slowly ate at me.

I glance at the glass of red wine, and stare at my reflection. I only peer at it for a few seconds before getting frustrated, and bring the glass to my lips. Gulping it down, hoping to drink my heartache away.

How could she? 10 years, to what?
Shit?

Yeah, to shit. With some guy whom Is far from half my worth; some 27 year old boy who works a sad 9-5.
In my own house.
In our - no - scratch that.
My bed.

Now that I think about it, the red flags were always there. At least after the 4 year mark.

Constantly ''At a friends'',
Coming home to Gabriella being by herself,
Never shown any kind of love,
Always being left on read,
Money being spent left and right.
So on and so forth.

Jesus was I that dense?

...
I guess I was.

I frustratingly set down my wine glass, I gaze down at the empty
glass. Small droplets of crimson coating the sides and my lips.

I need to sleep, I have work tomorrow at 6am.

I audibly thought. I look over at the microwave; reading it dreadfully.

3:57 am.