Evelyn — They said the mate bond was sacred.

That he'd protect me. Cherish me. Stay.

But while I was screaming in a hospital bed,

bringing his child into the world—

he was in hers.

Now I carry more than his baby.

I carry the truth no one wants to say out loud.

And I’m done pretending I wasn’t the one left bleeding.

Evelyn

The blue glow of the TV washed over me in the darkness. I sank deeper into the couch, one hand rubbing my swollen belly. On screen, a reporter stood at Moon pack's borders, detailing the latest security measures. Pack warriors moved in the background, but the one face I was searching for wasn't there.

Where was Damon?

I checked my phone: 12:04 AM. My back ached from sitting too long, and the baby had been unusually active tonight, kicking and rolling as if she could sense my unease. Seven months pregnant, and I was still waiting up for my mate like some lovesick teenager.

"He said he'd be back by ten," I whispered to my belly. "Daddy had to settle a dispute at the borders, that's all."

The baby kicked in response, a sharp jab just beneath my ribs. Almost like she was calling me on my bullshit.

The words sounded hollow, even to me. The knot in my chest had been growing for weeks now—that unmistakable twinge that came with the mate bond. Something wasn't right.

I shifted position, trying to get comfortable, when a sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen. I gasped, clutching the armrest.

"No, no, no..."

I'd had Braxton Hicks before, but this was different. My fingers trembled as I tried to steady my breathing. Another cramp hit me, stronger this time, doubling me over.

This is too early. Something's wrong.

I knew what was happening. The mate bond was supposed to be sacred, protective, especially during pregnancy. But when one mate betrayed that trust...

My eyes twitched with the effort of holding back tears as I fumbled for my phone. I reached for our mind link first, a desperate attempt to connect to Damon.

Damon, I need you. The baby—something's happening.

Nothing. Just the static emptiness of being blocked out. My throat tightened with the realization. He wasn't just absent; he'd deliberately shut me out.

Fine. There was still the phone. I grabbed it from the side table, my hands shaking so badly I had to try twice to unlock it. I pulled up Damon's contact—his smiling face from happier times staring back at me as I pressed call.

One ring. I shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt.

Two rings. Another contraction built, making me bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Three rings. "Please pick up, please pick up..."

Four—

"What?" Damon's voice cut through, sharp and annoyed.

My heart leapt at the sound of him, despite everything. But I could hear music in the background. Laughter. The clink of glasses. No sounds of a border dispute, that was for sure.

"Damon," I gasped, fighting through the pain. "Something's wrong with the baby. My water broke. I think—"

"I already told you where I am, now can you let me be?!" His voice crackled with irritation. I could practically see him rolling his eyes, the way he did lately whenever I spoke.

"Damon, please—I need help—" But all I heard was the beep of the call ending.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, the screen going dark. Had he really just hung up on me? While I was in labor with his child?

I called back immediately, heart hammering against my ribs.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Voicemail.

And again. And again. And again.

By the fifth attempt, I was sobbing, leaving a message that was probably unintelligible through my tears. "Please come home. The baby's coming. I'm scared."

Warm liquid trickled down my thighs, soaking into the couch beneath me. My water had broken. The panic rose in my chest like a tide, threatening to drown me.

I tried my parents' landline next, fingers slipping on the screen. The call went straight to voicemail. Of course. The one time I actually needed my family...

Another contraction hit, stronger than before. The pain wasn't just in my belly anymore—it radiated through my chest, my heart, my soul. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I struggled to stand. My legs shook beneath me, barely supporting my weight. I needed to get to the bedroom, to the overnight bag I'd packed just in case. Even though it wasn't supposed to be needed for another two months.

The contraction ebbed, giving me a moment's reprieve. I staggered forward, one hand pressed against my stomach, the other reaching out for support. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before me, the bedroom door impossibly far.

Another wave hit, this one stealing my breath entirely. My knees buckled. I caught myself against the wall, my vision swimming with black spots.

So this was how it would end. My baby born too soon because her father couldn't keep his promises. Me, alone on the floor of our home, the mate bond twisting like a knife in my chest.

As the pain subsided again, I heard the back door open. Heavy footsteps approached from the kitchen.

"Miss Evelyn?"

Luis, our gardener. What was he doing here so late?

"Miss Evelyn!" His weathered face appeared in my narrowing vision, eyes widening as he took in the scene. "The baby—"

"Help me," I managed to whisper. "Please."

His calloused hands were surprisingly gentle as he helped me to my feet. "Hospital. Now," he said firmly, already guiding me toward the door.

My last thought before another contraction claimed me was that my mate should have been the one holding me now. Not our gardener. Not a near-stranger who had more concern in his eyes than Damon had shown in months.

* * *

Evelyn

The hospital room was too bright, too sterile. I lay in bed, exhausted beyond words, staring at the ceiling tiles. Twelve hours of labor. Twelve hours of fighting to bring my daughter safely into this world, two months before she was ready.

The door opened, and I tensed, turning my head with effort.

Damon walked in, still wearing yesterday's clothes. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair disheveled. And there, on his collar—a smudge of pink lipstick that might as well have been written in blood.

My stomach knotted at the sight. He hadn't even bothered to change. Or to shower. Or to hide the evidence.

He stopped at the foot of my bed, hands in his pockets, keeping his distance like I was contagious.

"I heard you gave birth this morning," he said, his voice flat. "Congratulations."

That single word hung in the air between us. Congratulations. As if I'd just aced an exam or won a small lottery. Not like I'd spent half a day fighting for our baby's life while he was somewhere else. With someone else.

"Where have you been?" I asked. My voice came out as a raspy whisper after hours of screaming through contractions. "I could have died if it weren't for Luis."

He blinked. "Luis?"

"The gardener," I clarified. "He's the one who brought me to the hospital. He's the one who stayed until they took me into delivery."

Damon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, almost looking uncomfortable for a split second. But he didn't answer my question. Didn't explain why he'd ignored my calls all night. Didn't even ask about his own daughter.

"I had a freaking premature birth," I said, each word sharper than the last, "all because I'm marked by a cheating mate..." My voice broke, tears spilling down my cheeks. "And all you can say is congratulations?"

Something flashed in his eyes—anger, maybe, or just annoyance at being inconvenienced by my emotions.

"I have no time to exchange words with you, Evelyn." He straightened his tie, a gesture so normal it felt wrong in the middle of all this.

And just like that, he turned and walked away. As if I were nothing. As if our daughter were nothing.

I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely now. I'd known our marriage was in trouble. I'd felt his growing distance, seen the signs. But I never thought he'd abandon us when we needed him most. That wound would never fully heal, I knew. Some betrayals cut too deep.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. A nurse stood there, a tiny bundle swaddled in her arms.

"Someone's been missing her mama," she said softly.

As she placed my daughter in my arms, something warm stirred inside my cold, broken heart. She was so small, so fragile, her skin almost see-through. But she was fighting. Her tiny chest rose and fell with determined breaths, her miniature fingers curled into defiant fists.

"Hello, little one," I whispered, tracing the curve of her cheek with my finger. For a moment, the ache in my heart subsided, replaced by something fiercer, more powerful. I would protect her. I would give her the love her father couldn't.

It was a sad thing, to be born into a home with a father like Damon. But she would have me. And somehow, that would have to be enough.

* * *

Evelyn

"It was the gardener who took me to the hospital." The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. I stared at the thin hospital blanket covering my legs, picking at a loose thread. "Luis. The guy who mows our lawn."

Susan sat in the chair beside my bed, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She'd come straight from work, still wearing her scrubs with the little cartoon frogs on them.

"When I couldn't reach Damon..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain the fear of that moment. The panic. The pain.

Susan reached over and squeezed my hand. "Hey, it's okay." Her voice was steady, the same voice she'd used when we'd hide under blankets during thunderstorms as kids, sharing a flashlight and making up stories to drown out the thunder. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

But I did want to. I needed to. The words had been building up inside me since yesterday, threatening to choke me if I didn't let them out.

"He hung up on me, Sus." My voice was quiet. "I told him something was wrong, that the baby was coming, and he hung up. Then he wouldn't answer."

Susan's eyebrows pulled together. "Are you sure he understood what you were saying? Maybe there was bad reception, or—"

"He understood." I swallowed hard. "And then he showed up this morning with lipstick on his collar. Didn't even ask about the baby. Just said 'congratulations' like I'd won a raffle or something."

The bassinet next to us made a small noise as the baby—my daughter—shifted in her sleep. So tiny she barely took up any space in there. Her little chest rising and falling with breaths that seemed too fragile to sustain life.

Susan followed my gaze to the bassinet but quickly looked away. "I'm sorry about the landline," she said, changing the subject. "It's been acting up all week. And I had this awful migraine yesterday, couldn't even look at my phone without feeling sick." She touched my arm. "If I'd known..."

"It's not your fault." I gave her a tired smile. "You're here now."

Susan nodded, looking relieved. She glanced at her watch. "Mom and Dad send their love. They'll come by tomorrow—Dad's got that meeting with his publisher today."

Of course. Our parents were always busy with something. Dad with his books, Mom with her charity work. Susan and I had practically raised each other.

"Does she have a name yet?" Susan gestured vaguely toward the bassinet, still not looking directly at it.

"Ava," I said. "I was thinking Ava Rose."

"Pretty." Susan fiddled with the strap of her purse. "Has Damon seen her?"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "He left before the nurse brought her in. Honestly, I don't think he even wants to see her."

Susan's expression was hard to read. "Things have been bad between you two for a while now, haven't they?"

I nodded, memories flashing through my mind: dinner tables with only one place set, nights waiting up for him only to fall asleep alone, the growing distance I couldn't seem to bridge no matter what I tried.

"I think he's cheating on me," I said finally. The words didn't hurt as much as I expected. Maybe because I'd known it for months, felt it in the mate bond that once connected us but now felt stretched thin and frayed. "I can feel it... here." I touched my chest, just over my heart. "But I don't know who it is."

Something flickered in Susan's eyes, there and gone too fast to catch. She shifted in her seat, her hand slipping from mine.

"You want me to find out?" she asked, her voice controlled.

"Would you?" I leaned forward, desperate for any help, any ally in this mess my life had become. "You've always been good at getting people to talk. Maybe you could..."

"I'll handle it," Susan said, cutting me off. She stood abruptly, smoothing down her scrubs. "But Evelyn, you need to prepare yourself. Confronting a cheating mate rarely ends well." She didn't quite meet my eyes. "Let me talk to him first, okay? Maybe I can get through to him."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you," I said, reaching for her hand again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Susan squeezed my fingers, but it felt mechanical, like she was going through the motions. "I should go. Early shift tomorrow."

"Already? But you just got here."

"I'll come back tomorrow, I promise." She gathered her things, pausing at the door. "Try to get some rest. You look exhausted."

Before I could respond, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room felt emptier, quieter without her. Outside the window, afternoon was sliding into evening, long shadows stretching across the hospital parking lot. I could see people going about their normal lives, getting into cars, heading home to families who were waiting for them.

Ava made a small sound, and I turned to look at her, really look at her for the first time since the nurses had cleaned her up and placed her in my arms. She had my nose, I thought. Maybe Damon's chin. Her skin was still wrinkled and red, her eyes unfocused when they opened briefly.

Would he ever look at her? Would he ever hold her and feel that rush of love I'd felt, even through the haze of pain and exhaustion?

I touched my stomach, still swollen and tender. Everything hurt—my body, my heart, my pride. But looking at Ava, I felt something else too. Something stronger than the pain.

"We'll be okay," I whispered to her, not entirely sure I believed it.

I got used to the 3 AM quiet. The particular stillness of the house when everyone else was asleep and it was just me and Ava in the yellow glow of her nursery lamp. Her tiny fingers would curl around mine while she nursed, and I'd watch shadows play across the ceiling, wondering where Damon was sleeping.

He came home less and less. When he did appear, it was only to shower and grab fresh clothes before disappearing again. One evening, I found him standing in the doorway of the nursery I'd spent months decorating—the clouds I'd painted on the ceiling, the bookshelf filled with stories I remembered from childhood. He looked at it all like he was seeing a stranger's house, then silently moved his remaining things to the guest room down the hall.

I tried to talk to him once, catching him in the kitchen early one morning.

"She has your eyes," I said, watching him pour coffee into a travel mug.

He stared at me for a long moment, then screwed the lid on his mug and walked out without responding.

Susan visited every few days, bringing takeout and watching bad reality TV with me while Ava slept. She never mentioned Damon, and I stopped asking if she'd talked to him. The answer was in the growing distance between us, in the cold silences that filled our home.

I was changing Ava one morning when my phone buzzed with a text.

Need Q3 projections for board meeting. Bring to office ASAP. - Marissa (That was Damon's assistant)

I stared at the message, my pulse quickening. This was the first real connection to Damon in weeks—even if it was through his assistant.

"What do you think, Ava?" I asked, tickling her belly. "Should we go see Daddy at his office?"

She blinked at me, uncomprehending but beautiful.

Twenty minutes later, I'd found the folder in his home office and was heading to the kitchen, an idea forming. The chicken porridge I'd made yesterday was still in the fridge—his favorite. I packed a container carefully, adding a sprig of parsley the way he liked.

"Maybe this is our chance," I told Ava as I strapped her into her carrier. "Maybe seeing you, seeing us... maybe it will remind him of what's important."

The hope was small, fragile, probably foolish. But it was all I had left to hold onto.

* * *