Chapter 3

I dropped the surgery reservation onto Jace's desk the next morning.

Then I placed the ultrasound printout on top of it.

"Read the second paper."

Jace picked up the sonogram.

His eyes found the word PREGNANT at the bottom.

Everything in his face stopped.

He came around the desk and reached toward my stomach, but I stepped back before his hand touched me.

"Seven weeks," I said. "Nora confirmed it yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I planned to surprise you at dinner. Then I learned you'd pulled my donor records before speaking to me."

His shoulders dropped. For one second, grief and shock cracked through the Alpha mask.

Then he looked at the surgery reservation again.

"If I'd known, I would have reassessed."

"Reassessed?"

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Did Nora say the pregnancy would definitely be lost if you donated?"

I stared at him.

He heard himself too late.

"You're not asking if I'm safe," I said. "You're calculating how much danger is still acceptable."

"That's not what I meant."

"It is exactly what you meant."

"Mia, Olivia may die. I'm trying to manage two emergencies."

"There is only one emergency you believe you have the right to spend. Me."

The clinic alarm cut across the pack link before he could answer.

Jace spun toward the door.

We reached the medical wing within minutes.

Nora came out of Olivia's room pulling off her gloves.

"She's stable for now," she said. "But her wolf is fading. We need either a compatible donor or a different intervention quickly."

Jace paced the corridor. "Her family summary still shows no alternatives."

"So my child becomes the alternative?" I asked.

He stopped.

"I will not pretend the pregnancy doesn't matter," he said. "But Olivia could lose her wolf or her life this week. You have a chance to recover."

"If another compatible donor walked through that door right now, would you stop asking me?"

"Yes."

The answer came immediately.

"Then find one."

"I've already called every registered pack clinic in the region. No active match appears in the shared system."

"Then expand the search."

"We may not have enough time."

"That is tragic. It is not consent."

A door opened behind us.

Ethan stepped into the hall holding Olivia's silver training badge.

His face was blotchy from crying.

"Are you going to have a real baby?" he asked.

The corridor fell silent.

I turned fully toward him. "What did you say?"

"A real baby. Your own."

I crouched. "You are my real child."

"No, I'm not!" His voice broke. "Olivia told me what happens when wolves have blood pups. They forget the adopted ones. You're going to replace me."

Anger flashed so hot through me that my wolf stirred uneasily.

"Olivia had no right to tell you that. She lied."

"She never lies!"

"Protecting this pregnancy does not erase you. I chose you four years ago. I am still choosing you now."

"Then choose me now!" Ethan shouted. "If Olivia dies, I'll never forgive you."

Two nurses wheeled Olivia into the corridor.

Her skin looked chalky. Her lips were blue at the edges.

She turned her head weakly toward us.

"Cancel the donor request," she whispered. "Mia should protect her baby first."

Ethan broke apart.

"Look at her!" he screamed. "She's dying and she's still thinking about you!"

Jace wrapped an arm around him.

He did not correct the lie beneath the scene.

He did not say that my body was not a family vote.

"Take Ethan home," he told me. "I need to discuss palliative care with Nora."

I left without answering.

That night, I packed one black duffel bag.

Nora had quietly arranged space at a protected recovery house outside Mooncrest territory, a place normally used for mates escaping domestic coercion. It did not appear on ordinary pack registries. Once I crossed the boundary, I could file for emergency separation without Jace intercepting the paperwork through his Alpha office.

I packed jeans, sweaters, medication, my passport, the ultrasound, and copies of my refusal forms.

Before closing the drawer, I found Ethan's adoption certificate beneath a stack of old school papers. My name and Jace's sat side by side at the bottom, both signed on the same rainy afternoon four years ago. I photographed the document and left the original where it was. Leaving Jace did not mean abandoning my son. It meant refusing to let either of them decide that motherhood required surrendering every boundary I had.

Nora texted once to confirm the safe house code and remind me not to use the pack-owned vehicle, which could be tracked through the Alpha garage system. I ordered a private car to meet me two streets beyond the eastern gate and set an alarm for two fifteen.

For the first time since the clinic, I had a plan that belonged only to me. I also sent Nora a copy of the car booking and the safe-house check-in code. If I failed to arrive by three, she would contact the independent council advocate rather than Jace. I was done leaving my safety inside the Alpha chain of command.

I left my Luna gowns hanging in the closet.

I left the anniversary diamonds on the vanity.

I left every gift that had once convinced me permanence could be purchased.

At two in the morning, I zipped the bag.

The house was silent.

Jace was still at the clinic.

I slipped on my boots and reached for the gray winter coat hanging beside the bedroom door.

It was gone.

I stepped into the hallway.

Ethan sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

His eyes were swollen. My gray coat was crushed against his chest.

He looked at the duffel bag in my hand.