There comes a moment when standing still hurts more than moving forward.
That moment came to me in the quiet.
I was in the nursery room, a place I hadn't stepped into since returning from the ritual. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood and wildflowers—Mayla had arranged dried petals on the windowsill for good luck. I ran my fingers along the old rocking chair, the one Darius had carved years ago. We'd never needed it before. But now, with a heartbeat fluttering gently inside me, the chair's presence felt heavier.
Real.
I sat down in it slowly. My hands drifted to my belly.
It wasn't visible yet. But I could feel the change. Not just physically, but spiritually. My wolf had gone from restless to protective. She no longer mourned alone. She focused now on the life growing inside me.
Our pup.
Even the word made my heart ache.
Because this wasn't just my journey anymore.
I wasn't just healing for myself.
