Two

Eight months later

Loved ones come and visit the other mothers on the ward, gushing in excitement over their new bundles of joy, eagerly discussing their new additions to the family. The woman across from me is being doted on by her mate. The support he is showing her, the comfort, makes my heart twist painfully, knowing no one is excited to meet my son. No one is coming to check on me or offer support. No one cares for the boy suckling at my breast. Nobody is coming. It is just him and me against the world.

But that is ok. I will make it work.

The labor was excruciating. It was thirty-four hours and forty-five minutes of pure agony and no comfort, not even from the midwives. They were nothing but rude and mean, telling me to quit crying as I begged them to make the pain stop. I had never felt so vulnerable or alone as when I was in labor.

It was hard enough to grow up with the expectations of being the Alpha’s daughter, but then I got pregnant, shunned, and stripped of my title. All for one night. That one night turned my life upside down. How could he throw away his flesh and blood, his own daughter, over her falling pregnant?

How could anything so tiny and sweet be called a mistake?

Hearing the nurse come in, I look up. She grabs my chart from the end of the bed, looking it over before eyeing me. Glasses teeter on the end of her upturned nose. No one tries to hide their disgust; everyone looks down on me because I had a child with someone who isn’t my mate. That much is evident, that I have no mate because where is he? Not here beside me like the rest of those new mothers on the ward—my mate isn’t here gushing over this newborn baby in my arms.

“You really have no idea who the father is?” she asks, clicking her tongue. I know exactly who the father is, but the last thing I need is for him to hunt me down. I already had that run-in. A run-in I would much rather forget when I told him I was carrying his child.

He didn’t even remember me.

Doesn’t help that he's a rival pack Alpha. It's just easier pretending I don’t know. The shame I have brought my family for being pregnant is bad enough; my father would have killed me for the disrespect of foolishly getting into bed with the Blood Alpha.

I watch the nurse flick her red curly hair over her shoulder. “He is cute; shame his mother is a whore,” she sneers, and I see the points of her canines pressing beneath her gums as they protrude past her lips.

“Can I get some Tylenol?” I ask, ignoring her comment. I'm feeling a headache coming on. Besides, I've received multiple comments along the same lines since being here—I don’t feel the need to defend myself; there is no point. Nothing I say will make them look at me any differently.

“Sorry, can’t. It is not on your charts,” she says.

“It’s Tylenol. It’s not like I am asking for morphine,” I tell her.

“Doesn’t matter. It isn’t on your charts, so you will have to go without,” she says, dropping the chart on the table beside me. Most women heal directly after giving birth, but I haven’t shifted yet, so I have no such healing ability.

“Can I get something to eat at least?” I ask her. I am starving, and breastfeeding is making me ravenous.

“You came into the maternity ward after the dinner rounds, and breakfast is at 7 a.m.,” she tells me. I look at the clock and see it is only just after 8 p.m. I nod, knowing this nurse will not help in any way. Crap, every nurse here is horrible because of my situation. Sometimes, I wish I could leave this city, pretend to be human, and just go about my life with my son.

The nurse leaves, stopping at the blue curtain that divides the beds. “Did you even think of the repercussions for the father by having a child with someone who isn’t your mate? Did you think of the poor woman who finds her mate in him and one day learns he fathered an illegitimate child to some random she-wolf?”

Little did she know that I thought of that every day since learning I was pregnant, but it was his choice, too. I fight back the tears from her words as I stare down at my amber-eyed boy; those eyes are definitely from his father, from what I can remember at least. Mine are light bluish-gray.

I've just put my son down after he fell asleep in my arms when I see a nurse walk past. She stops and comes over to me when I wave to her. Her uniform is different; she must be the head midwife or someone higher up on the staff list. Long, pencil-straight hair hangs to her shoulders, slightly obscuring her name tag. I try to read the small writing under her name—Rita—but I can't quite make it out. She must be in her mid-twenties because she seems closer to my age. Well, not really. I am barely eighteen, but still, she looks nicer than the previous nurses. She picks up my chart, flicking through it.

“Is there somewhere I can get some water? Or maybe a cup of tea?” I ask, and she glares at me. My stomach drops. Maybe she isn’t so lovely after all.

She presses the buzzer behind my head, calling another nurse, yet she still hasn’t answered me. My son starts to stir, and I reach over and grab him out of his crib as another nurse comes in, my stomach cramping from the sudden movement.

“Why is she in here?” the head nurse asks, making me look at her.

I just had a baby. Why else? I think to myself.

The new nurse looks over at me. Her hands tremble slightly—this head midwife obviously instills fear in her colleagues.

“Get her to the unmated section. We don’t need her disturbing the mothers in this ward,” the woman says before turning her nose up at me and walking out. Turns out, Rita is a bitch, like the rest of them. I stare, disgusted by this hospital’s bedside manner. The girl in the curtained-off room beside me speaks.

“I knew something was up with her, Hun; her mate never visited her. No one has. Now I know why,” she says to her mate.

She's right. We are allowed one person with us constantly while in here. The girl next to me, her mate hasn’t left her side since I got here. The person across from me had multiple people come in during the night, and her mate also hasn’t left.

I try to ignore their mates gushing over them and tending to their every need while I sit here, getting nothing but sneers and judgment.

The bed moves as the nurse begins rolling me out of the room. Because I am sitting upright, I have to grab the bar that runs along the side to stop from falling back. She wheels me through the maternity ward before going down a corridor; I appear to be leaving the maternity unit altogether. The nurse finally stops at a curtained-off area and places the bed against the wall. The woman then turns on her heel and leaves.

“Wait, can I get some water?”

But she has already gone and didn’t even acknowledge my question.

“I wouldn’t bother. They won’t help us,” comes a voice before someone jerks the partitioning curtain away to reveal two other girls. One looks to be in her mid-twenties with long, curly dark hair and sparkling green eyes. The other girl is around sixteen, with her dark blonde hair tied into a messy bun on top of her head.

“My name is Macey,” the oldest of them says.

“Hi. Everly,” I reply.

“Her name is Zoe. Welcome to the shunned mothers club,” Macey chuckles before looking down at her baby. She sighs heavily.

“Don’t expect them to help; they won’t. Seriously, you’re best off getting out as soon as you can,” Macey tells me.

“But they are supposed to,” I tell her, feeling disheartened.

“Yeah, I have been here two days; baby has a few problems. Half the time, they don’t answer when I buzz, and forget about them feeding you. I haven’t received anything since being here,” Macey explains before reaching to the foot of her bed and pulling a bag toward her. She rummages through it before pulling out a granola bar.

“Here. You must be starving. I was, and I came prepared expecting this,” Macey explains.

“You had a baby before?” I ask, unable to imagine going through this again.

She shakes her head. “No, this is my first. My mom was a single mother, too. We are rogues like you,” she says.

I open the granola bar, my stomach growling at the sight of food.

“Boy or girl?” I ask the younger girl, who seems rather shy.

“Girl. Yours?”

“Boy,” I tell her.

“Thanks,” I tell Macey before biting into the granola bar.

“Plenty in there, just help yourself. I brought extras in case there were other girls. Which pack are you from? Your aura feels quite strong for a rogue?” she says, staring at me.

“Alpha blood,” I tell her. Her eyebrows raise in shock.

“In that case, you don’t have to tell me. I understand why you would want to keep that to yourself. Zoe was born rogue—so was I,” she says, and I glance at Zoe, who nods.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you girls living? Are there any refuges or anything for women?”

“I have a place at a refuge. But I know it’s full to capacity,” Zoe says, a look of sorrow etching her face as if she wishes she could help more.

“Me? I live with my mom and my brother,” Macey tells me.

“Where are you staying? No family would help?” Zoe asks.

I shake my head. “No. We will be alright. I will come up with something,” I tell them, hoping that will be true, though I have been living in my busted station wagon, which cost me $500 for the last eight months.

It saddens me that we are pushed aside, but the next day, both girls help me, for which I am grateful. Macey continues to share her food, and she was right—not once did anyone come to check on us, no food was brought to us, nothing. Shunned for having a baby, and we suddenly don’t matter anymore.

Three

Two weeks later

Tap, Tap, Tap.

I look up and see a man tapping on my car window, his flashlight shining in before he moves it around, looking in the back. I put my hand up when the light flashes across my face, blinding me. He quickly moves it to the side.

“Ma’am, you can’t stay here,” the middle-aged man tells me; he must be city security, judging by his uniform. My son—who I decided to name Valarian—stirs, the bright light waking him, and he lets out an irritated cry. The man moves his flashlight away entirely, shining it at the ground, and Valarian stops.

“Look, I've noticed your car here for nearly two weeks; this is a train station.” He sighs as I pick up my son out of his fruit box bed and roll down the window a bit so he doesn’t keep yelling, thinking I can’t hear him.

“You really have no place to go? No family?” he asks.

“No, the council kicked me out of the park,” I say matter-of-factly.

He sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face before glancing around the parking lot.

“What about the baby’s father?”

I shake my head, knowing that isn’t an option. He didn’t even believe me about the pregnancy—refused to see me, even when I begged him to let me show him the ultrasound pictures. Every time I tried to call after that, he hung up the moment he heard my voice. After a while, I gave up.

“You know there are people out there that would take him—then you could probably go home.”

“I am not abandoning my baby like my parents did me,” I tell him, outraged he would even suggest it.

“This is no life for a child. You’re young. If you give him up, you could have a normal life. Something to think about: I will give you another week to find somewhere else. After that, you need to move on,” he says, and I nod before winding the window up.

I watch him leave before settling my son and putting him back to bed in the fruit box beside me—I have always been paranoid about accidentally rolling on him while asleep. Tugging the blanket up over both of us, I try to get comfortable. Yet, all I can think is. This is not how I intended to bring my son into this world. I thought it would be different and that I would have figured out something by now. A single tear runs down my cheek as I think of his words. “This is no life for a child.” Am I being selfish?

However, the thought of giving him up breaks my heart. He is mine. I loved him and would give my life for my little man. Isn’t that enough? I can’t deny the bond between us.

Waking up the following day, I groan; it is pouring with rain. It's still early. I rummage through the back for my umbrella before slipping my shoes on. Making sure Valarian is bundled nice and warm, I grab my empty bucket in one hand and pop the umbrella up as I open the hatchback.

Sliding the bucket to the crook of my elbow, I raise the umbrella with the same hand. I then pick up my son in my free arm and make a run for it to the train station bathrooms, paying extra care not to slip on the wet ground. That would be disastrous. Once I get into the large, handicapped stall, I shove the bucket in the sink, filling it with warm water before shimming my pants down to pee. One thing I hate about being homeless is holding my son while going to the bathroom. I can’t place him down anywhere, making it hard to use the toilet while making sure not to drop him. When I finish, I slide my pants up with one hand, which is difficult while holding my son, then awkwardly wash my hand before turning the faucet off.

Now the tricky part—holding an umbrella, a newborn, and a now-full bucket of water. Somehow, I manage it and make it back to the car before placing the bucket down and quickly opening the hatchback to my wagon. I crawl in and set my son in his bed before hauling my tiny bucket in. Lathering my washcloth with soap, I give him a wash down before dressing him in a clean diaper and clothes so he's all nice and fresh for the day.

Using the remaining water, I also give myself a wash, longing for a shower. Gosh, I miss showering, something I definitely took for granted. I use the rest stop ones occasionally, but right now, I have no fuel to get there and can’t risk spending my limited funds.

When mom and dad kicked me out, I had a small amount of savings. I also worked at the Chinese restaurant on the main street while pregnant to keep saving. The savings didn’t last long with buying baby clothes and non-perishable food, though. And now that he's born, I've been spending money on diapers. Not to mention, since my milk dried up from stress and lack of nutrition before I left the hospital, I am forced to stock up on formula and bottled water too. My car looks like a mini supermarket, but I am starting to get low on the formula again. Rummaging through my wallet, I find my last $100. I need to think of something fast. This won’t see us through much longer.

Sighing, I lean back on my door, watching the rain. The restaurant won’t take me back—I tried that—and my parents obviously aren’t an option. His father wouldn’t even let me on pack territory when I requested to see him.

I still remember when I got his number to call him that first time; what a nightmare that was. He laughed and said there was no way he would sleep with a seventeen-year-old. To be fair, I was not supposed to be in that part of the club at the hotel. My sister and I wanted to meet the older Alphas, not the young ones that hadn’t even reached puberty. So with fake IDs, we snuck in while the meeting was going on in the conference hall. Alpha Valen was just as drunk as I was, so it's no wonder he can’t remember me. I barely remember anything. What I do remember is how I felt that night—the pull to him for some reason—and he must have felt it too. I know I didn’t imagine it.

Shaking the vague memory away, I grab a granola bar and start eating. My belly is rumbling. Oh, what I would do for a home-cooked meal. I love mom’s cooking. She's the best cook!

A tear slips down my cheek and I check my phone, yet I know I will find no missed calls. My father had it disconnected, but I like to look at the photos of when I was still part of the family. I miss my little sister—I wish I could see her, even just once more.

I spend most of the day just trying to figure out what I can do about money. The security guard’s words eat at me. “This is no life for a child.”

I am failing.

I need help and don’t know who to ask. When it starts to get dark, the five o’clock train pulls in. I try to light my candle so I can see in the growing darkness, but my lighter has finally run out of fuel. Popping the trunk to get out, I grab my umbrella and glance around, hoping to find someone smoking—someone approachable—to ask to borrow one.

“Excuse me, do you have a…”

The man in his tailored suit walks past, looking down at me. I try over and over again, ignored by everyone that passes. Feeling disheartened, I'm about to hop back in the car when I see a younger man in a neat suit.

I've seen him a few times. He catches the early train and is always home on the five o’clock train. He's always dressed nicely in suits that compliment his brownish-blond hair and green eyes, and his muscular build puts him a good foot taller than me.

The man stares at me warily as I approach, and I stop when I feel his aura—he has Beta blood. He looks familiar for some reason and I finally place him; he is one of the Betas from the Alpha meet. He's Beta to Alpha Valen. I pretend I don’t recognize him because he definitely doesn’t remember me, and I know he can’t feel my aura. I've been rogue for so long now, my aura is almost nonexistent. It doesn’t help that I still haven’t shifted. I want to, need to, but what do I do with my son?

“Can I borrow a lighter if you have one?” I blurt out quickly before he waves me away; everyone usually assumes I'm asking for money. He stops, staring at me for a second.

“Fine,” he says, rustling inside his pocket before handing me a green lighter. I run back to the car and light the candle that sits on a plate in my vehicle. Only, when I turn around, I find him behind me, having followed me the few yards back to my car.

I jump, not expecting him to be so close. “Thank you,” I tell him, passing it back. He nods, then begins to leave, walking around the side of my car just as my son cries out.