Soon my heat will come. I feel it fast approaching, and when it arrives, I won’t be able to stop myself—or them. They’ll mark me with their bites. They’ll make our bond official, and then they’ll have no choice.
And I owe them that much. I owe them agency in their own lives.
If they choose me, they need to choose all of me. They need to know what all it entails.
Noah isn’t here, but if I wait for his return, if I wait to have them all together again, I’ll very likely lose my nerve.
I disentangle myself from Ben and Miles and rise on shaky legs, take a deep breath, and share the truth I’ve been dreading for them to learn.
“I have a daughter.” I say it soft, hardly above a whisper. Then I say it again. “I have a daughter.”
While I remember my first heat with near perfect clarity, I can hardly recall the first time I saw my daughter. The first and only time.
Mother was adamant that no one could know of my little nine-month, seven-pound mistake. And she explored all the options while we still had the time.
An abortion could risk my future fertility. Plus there were very few doctors that even knew how to perform such an antiquated procedure. In a world where pregnancies are hard to orchestrate, no one wants to end one voluntarily.
And I was determined to keep my baby, no matter what my mother decided. When she switched from searching for options to “get rid of it” and started focusing on looking after my health instead, I thought we were in the clear.
Little did I know, she never planned to let me keep the child, even though I did complete my pregnancy, and I did give birth to a red-faced, screaming infant.
That’s really all I remember, that little bundle of joy wriggling and screaming as the midwife snipped the cord that joined her body to mine.
Looking back on it, I wonder if my daughter knew something I didn’t yet. If she knew she was entering the world as someone’s shameful secret, that she was born of lies and thus her life would be filled with them.
I don’t even know where my mother sent her. Presumably to some pack with an infertile omega so they could parade my daughter about as their own.
I don’t know. I doubt I’ll ever know.
Pack Fernando made all the arrangements. Sold my baby girl to the highest bidder, no doubt. Mother called them when the midwife announced that my labor was nearing its end, that it was time for me to push.
And I’ve been pushing ever since—pushing other people away, pushing my luck, pushing thoughts of my little girl out of my harried mind.
Now here with Pack Muldoon, I want to pull for the first time ever. I want them close to me, a part of me and the woman I will eventually grow to be.
I never got to hold her.
But I’m hugging myself now, both arms wrapped around my shaking body as I tell the alphas everything I’ve been trying to hide, trying to forget for so long.
In a weird way, those months were the happiest of my so-far short existence. Feeling her grow inside me, knowing that even as weak and unimportant as I felt under my mother’s scrutiny that I had the power to create life, to nurture it and bring it to fruition.
I had long talks with my little girl late at night when I was sure no one was listening. I told her about my fears, my dreams, all the favorite moments growing up with my sisters. And I gave her advice so that she could make better choices than I did.
Until that last day, the day she left my body and claimed her own space in the world, I prayed that somehow we would make it in this crazy world together. That Mother would be more accepting once she held that first grandchild in her arms. That she would find a way to support us together as a family.
Silly me.
Nobody has a stronger will than Sage Steele, and I was reminded of that yet again as my child was spirited away from me, never to be seen again.
I had never felt so alone in all my life. The absence of my daughter inside me, knowing she was out there somewhere but not within reach.
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” I tell the alphas now. “I’m sorry Mother let you believe I was a perfect, untouched omega.” I want to whisper, but instead I force myself to speak loud and clear so there’s no mistaking my apology. “I never wanted to lie, but I felt so trapped. Mother insisted that I needed to be mated off anyway so as not to hurt my sisters’ prospects. She told me I had to go with Miles or she would send me to Fernando, the same pack that took my baby away, the same pack that gets rid of all my family’s problems because now I was a problem too. I didn’t want to lie, but I was so afraid. I thought I could be strong, that I could stop myself from falling for you, that I could get you to send me away so that you could find someone new. But then I got to know you, and—” My voice cracks as I choke back a sob. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I’ve been avoiding their eyes all this time, focusing on getting my full story out before I could wonder how they were reacting to it. Now I lift my face and swipe at the tears that have started to fall—the tears that always fall whenever I think of my lost daughter.
“I knew something was wrong,” Miles says with an expression that’s hard to read. “I knew your mother was holding something over you, that you were afraid. And desperate.” He shakes his head. Perhaps with regret over his actions, over falling into line and doing exactly what we wanted from him. I hope that’s not the case, but I can’t blame him. This is a huge betrayal.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, even though I know it will never be enough.