"You're using our son's safety as a weapon in a marital spat, Maya."

Jace stood by the kitchen island, adjusting the silver watch on his wrist. He offered no apology for the previous night's argument. Instead, he framed my decision to lock Talia out of the digital medical cabinet as an act of petty jealousy.

I ignored his accusation and turned my attention to our son. "Tell me the three locations for your allergy medication, Owen."

Owen slumped over his bowl of oatmeal, dragging his metal spoon through the thick oats. "The kitchen drawer. My school locker."

Talia sat in my usual chair, sipping dark roast coffee. She offered Owen a warm, reassuring smile. "I'll remember the third one for you, sweetie. You don't have to memorize everything."

"I am not trusting his life to a guest who moved into this house ten days ago," I said, keeping my focus locked on my son. "Where is the third location, Owen?"

Owen slammed his spoon into the ceramic bowl. Milk splashed onto the polished granite counter, dripping onto the hardwood floor. "You just hate her because she's actually fun! She doesn't treat me like a baby!"

"Knowing where your medicine is kept is not treating you like a baby," I replied. "It is keeping you alive."

Jace simply sighed, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms. "Don't try to win arguments in front of the kid, Maya. It's exhausting."

"I am not trying to win an argument," I said. "I am trying to ensure he knows how to survive an allergic reaction."

I did not waste another breath explaining myself. I pulled a black marker from the utility drawer and wrote today's date on the emergency index card taped inside the cabinet door. I slid the card across the island until the sharp edge touched Jace's knuckles.

"From today on, you are responsible for knowing these locations," I told my husband, staring directly into his eyes. "I will not always be the backup system for this family."

Four hours later, the Pack clinic doors slammed open.

Talia lay on the sterile examination bed, a clear oxygen mask strapped over her pale face. The heart monitor beeped in a rapid, frantic rhythm. On the metal tray beside her rested her leather riding bag, unzipped to reveal a bright yellow trainer pen—an empty plastic shell used for practice injections.

The real epinephrine injector was gone.

Clara, our head maid, stepped into the room holding a torn foil wrapper. Her hands shook as she held it out. "Alpha, I found this shoved into the back of the Luna's storage cabinet."

Jace snatched the wrapper from Clara's hands. He crumpled the foil in his fist and dropped it onto the metal tray. He turned to face me, his expression hardening into stone.

"Did you swap it?" Jace asked, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Did you do this to scare her just because she touched Owen's bag yesterday?"

I looked past Jace, searching for our son. Owen stood near the doorway, clutching the plastic game console Talia had bought him. His knuckles were white.

"Tell your father what happened yesterday morning, Owen," I said. "Tell him why I refused to let Talia handle your medical pouch."

Owen stared at his sneakers. He gripped the game console tighter and said absolutely nothing.

Talia reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down to her chin. She coughed weakly, her chest heaving with the effort. "I asked Maya about the medical supplies last night. Maybe someone just grabbed the wrong one in a hurry."

"Pull the Alpha House security footage," I demanded, addressing the clinic staff. "And bring me the inventory logs for every medication dispensed this week."

Jace stepped into my line of sight, blocking my view of the nurses. "A woman is lying in a hospital bed, fighting for breath, and your first thought is clearing your own name?"

"My first thought is finding out how a trainer pen ended up in her bag," I corrected him. "I do not have a key to her personal belongings. And I have no reason to touch them."

"I left it on the living room sofa last night," Talia whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at Jace. "The zipper was open. Anyone could have touched it."

She reached out, resting a pale hand on Jace's forearm. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. "Jace, please don't yell at her. Pregnancy hormones make people do things they don't realize. Her body is going through so much right now. Don't be too hard on her."

Owen's head snapped up. He marched over to the metal bed, glaring at me. "Is that why you're mad? Because Dad spends time with Talia and not you?"

"Adult relationships are not for you to judge, Owen," I told him, keeping my voice steady. "And pregnancy is never an excuse to invalidate a person's actions."

Owen scowled, his face turning a deep shade of red. "Stop lecturing me! You always make everything a rule! You just want to control everyone!"

Jace watched the exchange, his jaw tightening. He pointed a firm finger toward the hallway. "Stay away from Talia's room and her medication, Maya. Temporarily."

"You are restricting my access in my own home?" I asked.

"I am keeping the peace," Jace countered. "Until we figure out what happened, just keep your distance."

I stood in the center of my own Pack clinic, labeled a threat in front of my husband, my son, and my staff. The restriction was a clear declaration of his distrust.

I turned to the head nurse standing near the heart monitors. "Seal the intake list, the medication batches, and today's shift logs under my Pack member rights. Send notice to the Council immediately. I am filing a formal written objection to an internal accusation against the Luna."

Jace's eyes widened. He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "Do not escalate family drama to the Council, Maya. You are overreacting."

"If you treat me as a threat to a Pack member in my own territory, it is no longer a family spat," I replied.

I turned my back on him and walked out of the room. The heavy wooden door swung shut behind me, stopping an inch from the frame.

Talia's voice carried through the gap.

"Your mom needs us to agree with her right now, sweetie, or she'll feel sick again," Talia murmured.

"I know," Owen whispered back. "She says she's tired every time Dad hangs out with you. She just wants attention."

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and pressed the submit button on the Council grievance portal.

I walked into the family living room holding an empty canvas tote, intending only to grab my prenatal vitamins and a clean pair of pajamas. I just wanted to sleep in the guest room.

Laughter echoed from the leather sectional. Jace and Owen leaned over a glowing tablet screen, their shoulders pressed against Talia’s. They were scrolling through photos of the chestnut geldings from the stables. The morning’s clinic disaster had not driven them apart. It had forged a tighter circle, one that left no space for me.

I did not ask either of them to come upstairs with me.

"Did you get the security footage?" I asked, stopping at the edge of the woven rug.

Jace locked the tablet screen and tossed it onto the coffee table. "The kitchen camera feed cut out during a system update. There is no video."

He stood up, crossing the distance between us. "But we need to talk about your behavior, Maya. You need to apologize to Talia."

"Apologize for what?" I asked, keeping my grip firm on the canvas straps.

"For being hostile," Jace said, his voice dropping into a stern reprimand. "You spent the entire morning treating her like a criminal. At least admit you overreacted yesterday."

"I will not apologize for a crime I did not commit," I replied, meeting his glare. "The only evidence is a foil wrapper found in my storage cabinet. Anyone with a key to this house could have planted it."

"You are the only one who hates her," Jace countered, stepping closer. "You are the only one with a motive to swap the medication and scare her away."

"My motive is keeping our son alive," I said. "I locked her out of the digital cabinet to protect him, not to play games."

"You humiliated her in front of the entire clinic staff," Jace snapped. "You filed a Council grievance over a simple mistake. You are making this family look like a joke."

"You made this family a joke the moment you moved her into our home," I told him.

Talia pushed herself off the sofa. She wrapped her arms around her waist, her eyes wide and shining under the recessed lighting.

"Please stop yelling at her, Jace," Talia whispered, her tone laced with manufactured guilt. "It is my fault. I should never have come back."

She looked at Jace first, ensuring she had his attention before turning to me.

"If my presence makes you so emotionally unstable that you fail to protect your baby, I will pack my bags," Talia said. "I will leave tomorrow."

Owen jumped up from the cushions. He planted his small sneakers firmly on the rug, inserting himself between me and Talia like a shield.

"You just want to drive her away!" my ten-year-old son yelled, his fists clenched at his sides. "She is the only one who actually plays with me!"

Talia reached into her cardigan pocket. She pulled out the crumpled foil wrapper—the same one Clara had photographed and sealed hours ago. She extended her hand toward Jace, bypassing protocol completely.

"Here," Talia murmured, offering a weak smile. "Just take it. Let us stop fighting."

"Do not touch that," I said, stepping forward to intercept the evidence. "It needs to remain sealed for the Council review."

I reached for the plastic edge. Jace moved faster.

Assuming I was lunging at Talia, my husband stepped directly into my path. He planted a heavy hand against my forearm and shoved me backward with entirely too much force.

My shoes slipped on the polished hardwood. I lost my balance entirely, my arms flailing as I twisted in the air.

My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the oak coffee table. A sickening thud echoed through the room as I collapsed onto the floor.

A sharp, electric pain shot up my spine, paralyzing me for a fraction of a second. Then, my lower abdomen seized in a violent, cramping knot.

I looked down. A dark red stain was already blooming against the grey cotton of my pajama pants, spreading rapidly.

"Jace," I gasped, pressing my hand against my stomach. "Call the healer."

At that exact second, Talia gasped loudly. She grabbed the collar of her shirt, sinking heavily onto the sofa cushions.

"My chest is tight," Talia wheezed, her chest heaving artificially. "It hurts to breathe."

Owen immediately spun around and dropped to his knees beside her, grabbing her hand with both of his.

Jace crouched next to me, but his eyes darted toward the sofa. "Maya, are you able to just calm down for a second?"

He was weighing our symptoms. He was treating my fall as a tantrum meant to overshadow her panic.

I lifted my trembling hand and held it out. Crimson blood coated my palm, stark and undeniable against my pale skin.

"I am bleeding," I said, my voice cracking under the sheer terror of losing my child.

Owen stood behind Jace's shoulder. He stared directly at the blood on my fingers. He did not step closer. He did not cry out for me.

"Do not believe her," my son told his father, his voice completely steady. "She always says she is sick whenever you hang out with Talia."

The air in my lungs vanished. My fingers curled into tight fists against the rug. My own son had learned to look at my bleeding body and judge it as a performance.

Jace frowned, shooting a sharp look over his shoulder. "Do not speak nonsense, Owen."

Yet, Jace did not scoop me into his arms. He did not yell for Clara or dial the emergency line. He turned his head back toward the sofa, checking to see if Talia needed to go to the clinic first.

That single second of hesitation gave me my answer. My danger required verification. Her discomfort demanded immediate action.

I gripped the edge of the coffee table and forced myself upright.

"Clara," I called toward the hallway. "Bring the car around."

Jace looked at the blood soaking through my clothes, then back at Talia. "Maya, wait. Let me make sure she can breathe, and then I will take you."

"No." My voice shook, but the answer did not. "You already decided who you believe."

Clara rushed in and caught my elbow. I let her steady me only long enough to reach the foyer.

Behind us, Owen stayed beside Talia. Jace called after me that he would meet me at the clinic.

I did not trust that promise enough to wait.

"Not the Pack clinic," I told Clara as another cramp folded me in half. "Take me to the neutral hospital outside the territory."

The front door shut behind us before anyone followed.

"We cannot find a fetal heartbeat, Luna Maya."

Dr. Evans stood beside the sterile metal exam bed, holding a blue clipboard against his white coat. The heart monitor next to him beeped in a slow, steady rhythm, tracking my vitals while the screen beside it remained entirely blank.

"The bleeding is severe," Dr. Evans continued, his voice maintaining a careful, clinical distance. "We need to proceed with a surgical evacuation immediately to prevent further hemorrhaging. Do you want me to page Alpha Jace?"

"I will call him," I said.

I pulled my phone from my blood-stained pajama pocket. My fingers left red smudges on the glass screen. I dialed Jace's private number, the one reserved exclusively for family emergencies.

It rang twice before the line clicked dead. He sent me straight to voicemail.

Handling Talia's relapse. Be right there.

I stared at the plain black text. My husband was in the clinic down the street from our house, tending to a woman who had faked a panic attack, while I lay in the emergency ward losing our child.

I closed the message thread and tapped the speed-dial for Owen's pediatric communicator. The screen showed the word Read under my outgoing emergency alert, but the call went straight to his automated voicemail.

Dr. Evans tapped his pen against the plastic edge of his clipboard. "Luna? We need a signature on the emergency contact release form before we can administer the anesthesia."

I took the pen from his hand. I looked at the line where Jace's name sat in neat, typed letters. I pressed the pen tip to the paper and drew a thick black line straight through my husband's name.

In the blank space next to it, I wrote: Notify Patient Only.

A nurse asked if I wanted to wait ten more minutes.

"No," I told her, handing the clipboard back to the doctor. "Start the prep."

"I have already waited," I said.

The nurse unzipped my ruined coat to swap it for a blue surgical gown. As she pulled the fabric off my shoulders, a glossy square of paper slipped from the pocket and landed on the linoleum floor.

"Should I put this in the family locker?" the nurse asked, holding it by the corner. "So your mate can hold onto it when he gets here?"

I looked at the black-and-white image. I pictured Owen standing in our living room earlier today, shielding Talia with his small body. I remembered his voice echoing over the sound of my own pain.

"Put it in my personal belongings bag," I instructed the nurse. "Do not give it to anyone else. Under any circumstances."

The nurse nodded and slid the photo into a clear plastic pouch with my name printed on the label.

Dr. Evans returned with a yellow sheet of paper. "Anesthesia consent. We need a witness signature since your mate is not present in the building."

I lay flat on the mattress, staring at the harsh fluorescent ceiling lights. I was the Luna of this Pack. I had a husband who swore loyalty vows to me eight years ago. I had a ten-year-old son. Yet, as the medication flowed into my veins and the monitor tracked my fading pulse, the chair sitting outside my operating room remained completely empty.

"Did she really lose the baby?"

The whispered question pulled me through the heavy fog of the anesthesia.

I opened my eyes. Jace stood near the door of the recovery room, cornering the shift nurse. He wore the same gray shirt from this morning.

Even now, with me lying in a hospital bed attached to a saline drip, he needed a medical professional to verify my loss. He needed proof that I was not faking a miscarriage just to ruin Talia's afternoon.

Jace noticed I was awake. He dropped his conversation with the nurse and rushed to the side of the bed. He reached out to grab my hand.

I pulled my arm back, letting his fingers grasp empty air.

Owen stood at the foot of the mattress. His face was pale, his shoulders hunched, but he kept his distance. He did not step forward to check on me. He just stared at the white blanket covering my legs.

Dr. Evans walked into the room, flipping through my chart. "The procedure went smoothly, Luna. You will need strict bed rest for the next three weeks. No stress. No heavy lifting. We need to monitor your recovery closely."

"I will take her back to the Alpha House," Jace announced immediately, stepping into the doctor's line of sight. "We have the staff to care for her properly. I will make sure she rests."

I did not look at Jace. I shifted my gaze to the end of the bed, locking eyes with my son.

"Owen," I said, my voice raspy but entirely steady.

"Do you also think I was acting?" I asked.

Owen opened his mouth. He looked at his father. Then, he turned his head, glancing out the open door toward the hallway that led to the Pack clinic where Talia was staying. He swallowed hard.

His silence hit me harder than the physical pain in my abdomen. I could no longer use his age as an excuse. I could no longer pretend he just did not understand the situation. My son knew exactly what he was doing, and he chose to protect Talia's feelings over my life.

Jace frowned, resting a heavy hand on Owen's shoulder. "Do not interrogate the kid, Maya. We all had a rough night. Let us just get you home and talk about this tomorrow."

"I will sign the discharge papers," I told Dr. Evans.

Jace let out a relieved breath, assuming I was falling back into line. He did not know I was only returning to that house to pack my bags and end my life there permanently.

The nurse walked in carrying a brown paper bag. She set it gently on the rolling tray table next to me. Inside sat the ultrasound photo, my cut hospital wristband, and a small silver memory box provided by the grieving ward.

Jace reached for the twisted paper handles. "I have got it."

I slapped his hand away. I grabbed the bag and pulled it flush against my chest, gripping the rough paper until my knuckles turned white.

"No," I said, staring directly into his eyes. "This time, I carry it myself."