Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 170: Selfish

Chapter 170: Selfish

Mimi’s cries pierce the quiet halls, and I feel a pang of helplessness sharper than any blade. She’s so tiny, her face scrunched up in distress, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Her wails echo around me, and I’m acutely aware of just how lost I am.

"Shhh, little girl. I don’t know what to do, okay? I’m trying," I say softly, my voice cracking under the weight of my inadequacy. Her little fists flail, and I shift her in my arms, trying to offer some kind of comfort.

I glance around, hoping for someone—anyone—to appear and save me from this. Noelle’s been doing this alone for months. Months. He’s the one who’s carried her through every sleepless night, every tear, every moment of uncertainty.

And now, not even an hour in, I’m here, panicked, looking for help like some coward. I swallow hard, determination bubbling up inside me. I’m not going to be that guy. I can’t be that guy.

"Alright, alright, Mimi," I murmur, trying to keep my voice calm despite the rising panic. "We’re going to figure this out, okay? Just... give me a second here."

Her cries don’t let up, and I rock her gently, the motion awkward and unfamiliar. I’ve held swords with more confidence than I hold her now, but I keep trying. "Waaa!!!" she wails again, her tiny body squirming in my arms.

"Shhh, little girl. I don’t know, okay? I don’t know," I repeat, my words more for me than for her. I feel ridiculous, out of my depth, but I keep moving. Someone told me Mona’s in the kitchen preparing her food. That’s where I need to go.

Step by step, I carry her through the halls, her cries pulling at something deep inside me. I feel the weight of every moment Noelle endured on his own, and I grit my teeth. He deserves rest, and Mimi deserves a father who can handle this.

"Alright, Mimi. Let’s find your food," I say, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. "Just hang in there with me, okay? We’re going to figure this out."

Mimi’s cries are relentless, each one feeling like a hammer against my already frazzled nerves. As I turn a corner, I almost collide with Celia, who stops short at the sight of me cradling a wailing baby.

"Oh dear," she says, her voice soft with concern. She steps closer, her eyes settling on Mimi. Reaching out, she brushes a few strands of her dark, raven-colored hair away from her flushed, tear-streaked face.

"What’s wrong?" she asks, her tone calm but curious.

"I don’t know," I admit begrudgingly, my pride taking a backseat to the current crisis. My usual coldness toward her feels petty and irrelevant right now. I need help, and she’s here.

Celia tilts her head, studying me like she’s seeing me in an entirely new light. "Did you check her diaper?" she asks, her voice casual but laced with knowing.

I freeze. Her diaper. Right. Babies wear those. That... makes sense.

"I... uh..." I trail off, feeling a rare flush of embarrassment creep up my neck.

She lets out a soft laugh, not unkindly. "Come with me," she says, motioning for me to follow.

I hesitate, my old instincts rearing their head. But before I can say anything, she adds, "I may not look like it, but I’ve done this three times—the twins and you. Trust me, I know what I’m doing."

Her words disarm me, and I nod, falling in step behind her. Mimi’s cries ease slightly, as if sensing we might finally be onto something. Celia’s calm demeanor and the ease with which she handles the situation feel strangely reassuring, though I’d never admit it out loud. I’d rather die.

This might not be the day I become an expert at parenting, but at least I’m learning. For Mimi, I’ll follow her lead. For now.

***

Celia watched, an amused smile tugging at her lips, as Thorne struggled yet again to tie the diaper. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration, the mighty Crimson General brought low by a seven-month-old baby. Yet, there was something endearing about the sight of him so determined, his large hands fumbling awkwardly but earnestly.

He wanted to learn. That much was clear.

Her estranged son, always so cold and confident, even as a boy. The man before her now wasn’t the same child she had left behind all those years ago. No, this Thorne was harder, more distant, his every movement guarded. And yet, here he was, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen, struggling with something so simple yet so monumental for a father.

Celia felt a familiar pang of guilt twist in her chest, one she had learned to live with but never fully silenced. She knew she bore much of the blame for the man Thorne had become. When she was just a girl herself, barely more than a child, she had made a choice—a selfish one, she could admit that now. Leaving Thorne behind had been a cruel act, but in her mind, it had been a necessary one.

She had convinced herself back then that the Robbens, his father’s family, wouldn’t harm their own blood. And staying with Aspen? That would have been the end of her. She would have lived and died in a brothel or, worse, become a barely acknowledged concubine. No respect, no freedom. Escaping to start a new life with Remiro had been the best decision she had ever made.

But it was a decision that had cost her Thorne.

Even now, as she watched him, a pang of shame threatened to overwhelm her. She knew, deep down, that if given the chance to go back, to do it all again, she would still make the same choice. It was an ugly truth, one she had accepted but hated herself for. It made her selfish, and she knew it.

The sound of soft, melodic giggles snapped Celia out of her thoughts. She blinked and looked at the baby in Thorne’s arms. Mimi, her first grandchild, was beaming up at her father, her chubby hands grasping at his hair and tunic. Thorne stood there, looking ridiculously proud of himself, despite the diaper being tied slightly askew.

Celia couldn’t help but chuckle softly to herself. When her husband had been a father again with the twins,he had avoided diapers and any hint of baby mess like the plague, always finding excuses to escape. But here was Thorne, the infamous, conqueror of battlefields, utterly enraptured by his daughter and determined to get it right.

The sight warmed something in her that she hadn’t realized was still cold.

She watched as Thorne adjusted Mimi in his arms, cradling her with an unexpected gentleness. His expression softened in a way she’d never seen before, his icy demeanor melting under the weight of fatherhood.

Celia sighed, a mixture of sadness and hope. She knew her relationship with Thorne was beyond repair; too much had passed between them, and too much time had been lost. But as she watched him with his daughter, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Maybe she couldn’t be the mother he needed, but perhaps she could be the grandmother Mimi deserved.