"Absolutely not," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

I grabbed Carter's wrist and pulled him away from the clinic door, dragging him down the blue-tiled corridor until we reached the quiet, sterile corner by the supply closets. My fingers trembled as I shoved the crumpled paper pharmacy bag into his chest.

"Open it," I demanded.

Carter frowned, his brow furrowing as he took the bag. He reached inside and pulled out the silver-ribboned anniversary card first. Then, his fingers brushed against the smooth plastic stick. He lifted it into the harsh fluorescent light.

His thumb dragged over the two pink lines.

"Six weeks," I told him, wrapping my arms around my stomach to shield myself from the sudden chill in the hallway. "I was going to tell you tonight. At our anniversary dinner."

"Naomi," Carter called out, his tone sharp and urgent. He marched back toward her, leaving me standing alone by the closets. "Does an early pregnancy mean she absolutely cannot do the Moon Blood transfer?"

My stomach twisted into a hard knot. He didn't ask if the baby was healthy. He didn't ask how I felt. He asked if I could still bleed for Sienna.

Naomi lowered her tablet, her clinical gaze shifting between Carter's tense frame and my defensive posture. "A supernatural blood transfer forces the donor's wolf to rapidly generate healing cells. In the first trimester, that extreme biological stress carries a severe risk of hemorrhaging and miscarriage. We do not treat this like a standard blood drive, Carter."

"But is it a hard rule?" Carter pressed, stepping closer to the doctor. "Is it physically impossible?"

"If Lena does not consent, no one has the authority to sign for her," Naomi stated, her voice ironclad. "The hospital policy is absolute. I will not authorize the procedure without her signature."

"I didn't know, Lena," he said, staring at the pregnancy test in his hand.

His embrace felt rigid. Before I could lean into his chest, a high-pitched, frantic alarm pierced the quiet. It came directly from Sienna's room.

"Check on her," I said, my voice hollow.

We followed Naomi inside. Sienna lay flat on the examination bed, her face ashen and slick with sweat. The nurses scrambled to silence the monitor, adjusting the IV lines connected to her arm.

"We need a decision on the blood protocol," Naomi announced to the room, checking the vitals on the screen. "The donor is pregnant. We are moving to the backup plan."

Sienna's eyes snapped open. She looked at me, her gaze dropping to my stomach, then darting to Carter.

"Pregnant?" Sienna whispered, her voice trembling. She shook her head frantically against the pillow, pushing herself up on one elbow. "No. Carter, no. I won't take it. I would rather delay the surgery than hurt your baby."

"Delaying means risking permanent damage," Naomi interrupted, tapping her tablet. "If we wait for the synthetic stabilizers, your wolf might not survive the inflammation. You could lose your ability to shift and your athletic recovery entirely."

"Sienna gave up her figure skating career to follow me to this Pack," Carter said, addressing the floor before raising his eyes to mine. "If I had protected her during that rogue attack, she wouldn't even have this injury."

"Carter, do not do this right now," I warned, stepping back toward the door.

"I have carried that failure for years," he continued, stepping closer to my side of the bed, his voice rising. "If she loses her wolf because we made her wait, can you honestly look at her every day and pretend nothing happened?"

"I said no, Carter. Use the backup plan," I insisted, turning my back on him to face the doctor. "Naomi, start the alternative protocol."

"The synthetic prep takes six hours," Naomi explained, crossing her arms. "Sienna's private management team demands the fastest surgical route. They will fight the delay."

Carter seized on the timeline. "Six hours? If her vitals crash while we wait, who takes the blame? The management team will tear this Pack apart."

"Please, don't force Lena," Sienna cried softly. She reached out, her pale fingers wrapping tightly around Carter's sleeve. She pulled him down until his ear was inches from her mouth. "I am just so scared, Carter. What if I wake up and my wolf is gone? What if I am empty?"

He stood up straight and locked his gaze on me. His eyes were cold, completely devoid of the warmth that used to greet me every morning.

"I will not force you to sign the waiver, Lena," Carter said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "But if she loses everything because you refused to help... I do not know if we can ever be the same as before."

The words echoed in the sterile room, striking me harder than a physical blow. He just put our marriage on the chopping block. Refusing the transfer wouldn't save both my baby and my husband. It only meant I had to choose which one I lost today.

I stared at the man I married. The man who built a crib with me two weeks ago.

"Fine," I said, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "I will do it. On one condition."

Carter exhaled a sharp breath, his posture relaxing slightly. "Name it."

"You stay on my side of the glass the entire time," I demanded, crossing my arms to hide my shaking hands. "And when the transfer is over, you take me home first. Before you check on her."

"Done," Carter agreed without hesitation. He reached out, his hand resting heavily on the back of my neck. "I am right here, Lena."

Naomi signaled the nurses. "Prep the transfer suite. We move in five minutes."

Just as we reached the double doors of the transfer room, a nurse wheeled Sienna out of her clinic room. Her stretcher rolled past us, the metal wheels squeaking against the tile.

"Carter?" Sienna called out, her voice weak but carrying perfectly down the corridor.

Carter stopped walking.

"Will you be there when I wake up?" she asked, tears pooling in her eyes as she reached a hand out toward him. "Can you be the first face I see?"

Carter stood frozen between the open doors of my transfer suite and Sienna's stretcher.

"I will," he answered.

I turned to face him, my chest tightening until it hurt to breathe. "You just promised to take me home first."

Carter didn't retract his word to her. He looked at me, his expression hardened into a mask of pure logistics. "I will manage both sides, Lena. Let's just get this done."

A nurse stepped out of the transfer suite, holding a clipboard with a thick stack of papers. She handed me a black pen.

"I need your signature on the final page of the Moon Blood risk acknowledgment," the nurse said, flipping the document open on the metal counter.

I stared at the dotted line, the tip of the pen trembling as it touched the paper.

"Ten minutes, Lena," Carter said, stepping away from the edge of my hospital bed.

A sharp cramp ripped through my abdomen. I doubled over, gripping the thin cotton blanket. The Moon Blood transfer had barely started, but the supernatural drain was already tearing my insides apart.

"You promised to stay on my side of the glass," I reminded him, my voice strained through clenched teeth.

"I have to sign the confirmation documents for her surgery," he argued, pointing toward the hallway. "The hospital needs a signature from the future Alpha family representative. I will be right back."

"Carter, it hurts."

"Naomi is monitoring the IV," he replied, already backing out of the room. "Ten minutes. I swear."

He did not wait for my response. The heavy door swung shut.

Ten minutes stretched into a full hour. The cramping intensified into a relentless, burning ache that radiated down my thighs.

"Where is my husband?" I asked the nurse checking my monitors.

"Alpha Carter is in the surgical recovery wing," she answered, adjusting the fluid drip. "Miss Sienna is out of surgery."

I grabbed my phone from the metal tray. My thumbs flew across the screen.

I am bleeding. Please come back.

The message marked as delivered. Three gray dots danced on the screen.

Naomi is with you. I am coming.

I stared at the display. The backlight faded to dim, then turned completely black. He never opened the door.

A chime broke the sterile silence. The Pack group chat lit up my notifications.

Carter had uploaded a photo. Sienna lay against propped pillows, a bright smile on her pale face, giving a thumbs-up to the camera. Carter's caption sat beneath the image.

Surgery successful. Our star is back.

Dozens of congratulatory messages flooded the chat.

"The bleeding is too severe," Naomi announced, marching into the room with an ultrasound cart. "We stopped the transfer early, but the wolf reaction triggered a hemorrhage."

She applied the gel and pressed the wand to my stomach. The monitor displayed a static, gray void.

"The embryo's heartbeat is gone," Naomi stated flatly. She lowered the wand. "We need to clear the tissue immediately to stabilize your vitals."

I stared straight up at the fluorescent ceiling lights. One single tear escaped the corner of my eye and slid into my hairline. I did not sob. I did not scream.

"Do you have family available to sign the emergency consent forms?" a surgical nurse asked, holding a clipboard over my chest.

"No," I replied, my tone entirely hollow.

I picked up my phone and dialed Carter's number.

The first call rang twice before clicking directly to voicemail. He declined it.

I dialed again. The second call rang until it timed out.

I dialed a third time. The automated greeting played instantly.

I dropped the device onto the mattress. "Naomi, print my medical records. The transfer log, the ultrasound results, and the notes where I explicitly requested the backup synthetic protocol for Sienna."

Naomi stopped wiping the gel off my stomach. "You want the physical files right now?"

"Yes. Print everything." I refused to let anyone else define what happened in this room.

Three hours later, the anesthesia wore off. My phone buzzed on the metal tray. Carter's name flashed across the screen.

I swiped to answer.

"Why did you leave the observation wing?" Carter demanded.

Loud cheering and the clinking of glasses echoed in the background. Someone yelled Sienna's name in celebration.

"I went back to check on you and the bed was empty," he continued, raising his voice over the noise. "Sienna had a panic attack when she woke up. I couldn't just walk away from her."

"The baby is gone," I said.

The background noise vanished. A door clicked shut on his end.

"What baby?" he asked.

My grip on the plastic phone case tightened until my knuckles ached. He forgot the pregnancy test. He forgot the entire reason I hesitated to sign the waiver in the first place.

"Our baby," I told him, enunciating every syllable. "The one you said we could have later."

A sharp intake of breath hissed through the speaker.

"Lena," Carter stammered. The commanding Alpha tone dissolved completely. "I am coming to your room right now."

"Do not come here," I ordered.

I ended the call. I opened his contact profile and switched his ringtone to silent.

I took a taxi back to the Pack estate. The front door unlocked with a quiet click.

The house felt entirely foreign. The master bedroom door stood wide open, revealing a hospital-grade recovery bed and an oxygen machine next to Carter's nightstand. Down the hall, the nursery floor was covered in thick blue rehabilitation mats. The wooden crib was nowhere in sight.

On the dining room table sat a massive arrangement of yellow roses. A card leaned against the vase. To Sienna, Welcome Home.

I walked past the flowers. I entered the guest room and grabbed my laptop, my identification documents, and the folder containing my college acceptance letters. Finally, I reached into the cardboard box by the stairs and pulled out the silver wolf moon mobile.

I walked over to the entryway console. Carter always dropped his car keys on the polished wood.

I slid my diamond wedding band off my finger. The metal clinked sharply against the table. Next to the ring, I placed the hospital discharge papers detailing the miscarriage.

On top of the medical records, I set down the formal mate separation application.

Thirty minutes later, I stood at the Pack registry desk. I slid the separation forms across the counter. The clerk stamped them and handed me the yellow carbon copy.

I checked into a cheap, extended-stay motel on the absolute edge of the territory, miles away from the training facility.

I sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. My phone screen lit up the dark room. Fourteen missed calls from Carter.

On the fifteenth ring, I answered.

"Where are you?" Carter practically shouted. His breathing sounded ragged, erratic. "I am at the house. Lena, the papers on the table—"

"I lost my baby," I interrupted, my tone frigid. "And I lost the home you gave me."

"Please," he begged. Panic laced his words. "Tell me where you are."

"You do not have the right to ask where I am anymore."

"Lena, wait—"

A sharp, frantic gasp tore through the speaker.

I pressed the red button before he could shout my name.

I tossed the phone onto the bedspread and pulled the yellow carbon copy of the mate separation form from my bag, tracing the black ink of the official thirty-day countdown stamp.