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

Kafka thought—no—he feared, that after his mother's venomous words, both Abigaille and Olivia would break down.

That doubt would creep into their hearts, that the fragile foundation of everything they'd built together would shatter.

That they would look at him not as their son, not as their beloved, but as something twisted, wrong, corrupted.

He wanted to scream, to tell them not to listen, to cry out against the chains his mother was trying to wrap around them. The word was already rising in his throat, reckless and desperate, even though he knew that speaking a single syllable might doom them all.

But before he could, Abigaille made her move.

"I-It doesn't matter..."

She whispered, her voice trembling, tears spilling from her lashes, but there was steel beneath the fragility. She looked directly at Vanitas, and then at Kafka, her heart laid bare.

"It doesn't matter at all, Kafi."

Her voice grew stronger as she spoke.

"We knew...We knew from the very beginning that you weren't ours by blood...We knew you were someone else's child, someone else's baby who had been abandoned."

"But it didn't change a thing! Not then! Not now!"

She uttered with a look of conviction and determination on her face like she was saying a vow, before going on to say with a trembling gaze like she was speaking from the heart.

"From the moment we saw you, that tiny, precious face in that coffee shop...we knew you were meant for us. We knew fate had placed you in our arms. And if your real mother couldn't give you the love you deserved, then we would...We swore we would."

Her words struck him like arrows, each one piercing the wall of rage around his heart. His breath caught as his chest tightened, his eyes stinging at the raw truth she spoke.

And then Olivia, timid, awkward Olivia, took a step forward, her fists clenched though her body trembled. Her voice was shaky, but it carried a fire Kafka had never heard before.

"And you...You say you're his mother?" She said, staring straight at Vanitas. "Well, let me tell you that it doesn't scare me!"

"I don't care if you carried him, or if your blood runs in his veins! That doesn't give you the right to claim him!"

"Because you left him! You left your own son in a corner, abandoned him like he was nothing. If we hadn't found him that day..." Her voice cracked, but she forced herself on. "...if we hadn't been there, he might not even be alive today."

"...Do you understand that? Do you understand what you did to your own son?!"

Her chest heaved as she glared, fury blazing through her tears.

"So don't stand there and call yourself his mother. You gave up that right the moment you walked away from him. You don't get to come back now and pretend it means something."

"...You're nothing to him! Nothing!"

Abigaille's tears streamed openly now, but her voice was fierce as she joined in.

"I-If you had come here with kindness, if you had come to us as a mother who had lost her son and wanted only to see him again, we would have accepted it."

"Even if it hurt us, we would have accepted it, for his sake, since his happiness is our happiness."

She turned to look at Kafka then, her gaze softening, before hardening once again as she glared at Vanitas.

"But right now it's obvious, he isn't happy—he isn't happy to see you."

"In fact, he's furious!...He's in pain!...And I don't know what happened between you two, or what you've done to him, but it's clear you've only ever hurt him."

"...So don't you dare try to take him away. Don't you dare stand in this house and call yourself his mother."

Her finger trembled, but it pointed unwaveringly at Vanitas.

"Leave...Leave this house right now. If you love him at all, if you ever did, then l-leave him with the family that actually chose him...Leave him with us."

Olivia stepped forward too, her hand gripping Abigaille's tightly, her eyes blazing with the same determination.

"We won't let you hurt him again. Not now. Not ever...So go. Leave us alone if you truly care for your son."

And just like that silence followed and loomed over the room.

And Kafka, who heard all this and how they desperately fought for him could barely breathe.

Their words, furious, desperate, defiant, struck him harder than anything and felt his throat close, tears burning his vision.

He had never doubted they loved him, but to hear it like this, shouted into the face of a goddess, risked against impossible odds, it broke him.

He wanted to fall into their arms, to let them hold him forever.

But before he could move, before he could even lift a hand toward them, everything stilled as they heard something unexpected.

Drip...

Drip...Drip

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The room filled with a sound soft at first—then endless, impossible to ignore.

A patter...A drip...Water, falling steadily.

Not from the ceiling, not from a storm outside, but shockingly from Vanitas herself.

And how this sound was coming from her?

Well, it was because, Lady Vanitas, the Goddess of Forbidden Love, as well as Vanity, the woman who had terrified them all with her calm authority and venomous words...was weeping.

Tears spilled from her dark lashes, streaming freely down her pale cheeks, soaking into the silk of her robes before dripping to the floor.

They fell without pause, one after another, pooling at her feet like a flood she could not contain.

Abigaille froze, her arm still outstretched from her earlier demand. Olivia's lips parted soundlessly, her breath catching in her throat.

And Kafka...Kafka could only stare, his entire body stiffening with disbelief.

Vanitas's face remained composed, her smile faint but brittle, but her eyes betrayed everything. They shimmered with something raw, something unbearable, a grief so heavy it bent the air around her.

And her hands, even her hands were trembling as she lifted them to her face, wiping at her wet cheeks with a kind of dazed confusion.

For a heartbeat, she seemed unaware of what was happening. She blinked at the tears on her fingertips as though they were a foreign substance, something she had never seen before.

And then, softly, almost helplessly, she laughed.

"Hah...tears." She whispered, shaking her head with a broken, self-mocking smile. "Tears. Once again."

Her voice cracked as she pressed her palm to her eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"Do you know, from the moment of my birth, before even the first sun of this world began to shine, I had never wept? Not once. Not through creation, not through destruction, not through eternity's endless monotony."

"...I knew nothing of tears. They were for mortals. For the weak. Not for me."

Her shoulders quivered as more tears slid free. She gave another hollow laugh.

"And yet...now, for reasons I cannot explain, I find myself undone by them. Again and again."

She gestured helplessly at her wet cheeks.

"Look at me. A goddess of infinite power, who could shatter heavens with a thought, and yet I cannot stop this strange, pitiful flood from pouring out of me."

None of them moved. None of them spoke. They could only watch as her carefully constructed mask cracked further, sadness spilling through.

"I thought I was prepared." Vanitas murmured, her smile twisting. "I knew what I had done. I abandoned my child. I knew it. I accepted it. I thought I had the strength to bear it forever."

"But hearing it spoken aloud, hearing it thrown into my face by you, it...it cuts deeper than any blade."

Her gaze then lifted, wavering, searching, until it landed on Kafka.

For a moment she looked like a lost woman, not a goddess—just a mother who had made a mistake so vast it could never be undone.

And it was that look, that unguarded pain, that tore at Abigaille's heart.

Against every instinct, despite every word she had spat only moments ago, her hand slipped into her pocket. She drew out a handkerchief, folded neatly, its fabric crisp and clean.

With trembling hands, she extended it toward Vanitas.

"H-Here..." She whispered softly, her voice still raw but filled with quiet kindness. "Please...take it. It's clean. Don't worry."

Seeing this gesture, Vanitas stared at the offering as though it were some impossible miracle. Her lips parted, and for the first time she seemed utterly speechless.

Then, slowly, a shaky laugh escaped her throat, and she looked at Abigaille with a strange, almost reverent awe.

"You...child…You really are kind." She breathed. "Even after everything I said. Even after you demanded I leave this house. You still show me mercy. You still offer me this…"

Her voice cracked again, tears glimmering anew.

"You are so pure...No wonder my son cherishes you so."

Abigaille's cheeks flushed crimson, and she glanced instinctively at Kafka, her heart twisting at the weight of those words.

Olivia, too, found herself trembling, though for a different reason. She stepped forward, her voice hesitant but earnest.

"I...I told you to leave. I meant it then. But…" She swallowed hard, staring into Vanitas's sorrowful eyes. "It's clear now this is not so simple."

"There's more here than we understand. More than just anger. S-So, if you're willing...stay. At least for tonight. Stay for dinner, so that we can talk."

"We can...figure this out together, for Kafka's sake. For his future."

Vanitas's eyes widened once again.

She looked from Olivia's determined face to Abigaille's tender gaze, and then back to the handkerchief still trembling in Abigaille's hand.

Her lip quivered, and then she gave a short, unsteady laugh.

"You too…?" She whispered. "You too, child?"

She shook her head in disbelief, tears dripping freely again.

"Both of you, so unbearably kind...So impossibly pure." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It seems my son was luckier than I could ever have hoped."

"He found the love of mothers...in you."

Her voice cracked just slightly as she added,

"I could not give him the love he deserved. But you did."

"...And for that, I am glad, so glad, that it was you. Not anyone else."

She said with a bright smile on her her face while wiping away her tears like she was genuinely happy that Kafka had found love in a world full of coldness.

...while Kakfa himself was in a daze, having no idea how to react to the sight of his all-powerful mother cry helplessly in front of him, thinking that he understood everything that was going on.

But after seeing the tears spill down his mother's eyes, he didn't what to make of anything anymore.