Chapter 80

ELENA

When Derek finally emerged back into the waiting room, my breath caught in my throat.

He looked pale. Worn. His shirt was wrinkled, his sleeve rolled halfway up, and there was a small bandage on the inside of his arm. But it wasn’t just his appearance that stopped me—it was his silence.

I stood from my chair, my legs unsteady beneath me, and rushed to meet him.

"Thank you," I breathed, unable to keep the emotion from my voice. "This could save Aiden’s life. I can’t thank you enough, I—"

But he didn’t smile. Didn’t say he was happy to help. Didn’t tell me it was nothing.

He just stared at me, expression unreadable. His eyes were glassy, his mouth set in a hard line. My words faltered and trailed off, swallowed by the quiet hum of the hospital.

"Derek?" I asked softly.

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

Then finally, he spoke.

"Elena," he said, voice low and strained. "I’m going to ask you something. And I need you to be completely honest with me."

I knew.

Even before he finished the sentence, I knew what he was about to say. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, my stomach knotting up so tightly I could barely breathe.

I nodded. "Okay."

His throat bobbed with a swallow. His voice broke when he said it.

"Is Aiden my son?"

The world tilted.

I felt the question crack through me like lightning splitting a tree. Everything inside me screamed to run, to deflect, to protect myself—but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, the sound of footsteps approached.

DEREK

A new doctor stepped into the waiting room, a clipboard in hand and a purposeful look on his face. He glanced between us before settling on Elena.

"Ms. Hart? I’m Dr. Parnell—the pediatric specialist on call. Can we speak privately for a moment?"

Elena swallowed and looked at me.

"You can speak to both of us," she said. "This is Aiden’s father."

Her voice was quiet, but the words rang in my ears like a bell tolling through fog.

Aiden’s father.

I hadn’t even had time to absorb the confirmation before the doctor nodded, already diving into the report.

"Your son’s condition is still critical, but…" he gave a small smile, "he’s begun responding to the transfusion. His vitals are stabilizing, and his color’s improving."

My heart clenched.

"You were the donor?" he asked.

I nodded.

"How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"No," I said, my voice hoarse. "I’m fine."

"That’s good. Because we’d like to do another draw as soon as possible. We should wait a minimum of 30 minutes, and you need to make sure you’re properly rehydrating and getting calories. Preferably some with iron.”

The nurse returned just then with a tray and a tired but encouraging smile. She handed me a bottle of electrolyte water, a high-protein granola bar, and a foil-wrapped sandwich that I didn’t even look at before tearing into it. I wasn’t hungry—couldn’t remember the last time I’d been—but I chewed methodically, forcing myself to follow orders.

For Aiden.

Elena had settled into the chair beside me again. We weren’t talking. We didn’t need to. The silence between us was full of too many things—shock, worry, disbelief. Gratitude. Regret. Maybe even hope.

I caught her glancing sideways at me more than once. When I finally turned to look at her, she didn’t look away.

“I didn’t know,” I said quietly.

She nodded, her mouth tightening. “Yeah.”

I wanted to ask her everything. Why she hadn’t told me. How she’d kept this from me. Whether Logan knew. Whether he’d always known.

But the words wouldn’t come out right now. They were too big. Too sharp.

Instead, I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and stared at the floor.

“I’ve never felt this helpless before,” I said.

“I know,” she replied. Her voice was soft. “But even when he’s healthy, it’s not easy.”

I turned to look at her.

“They say that to have a child is to take your heart from your body and watch it walk away.”

Her words hung in the air, quiet and full of ache.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Because that was exactly what it felt like.

And I had only just realized it was my heart I’d been watching all along.

“I always thought I knew what it meant to protect someone,” I murmured. “I thought I understood what I was willing to fight for. Kill for. Die for.”

I looked back down at my hands. Still faintly stained with his blood.

“But this—”

Before I could continue, the pediatric doctor came back out, looked at me. “You ready to donate a little more blood for your son?"

He didn’t need to ask twice.

I was already pulling up my sleeve.

The walk back to the lab was a blur. The nurse from before greeted me with a relieved smile and offered another bottle of water and a different protein bar. I downed both without protest.

The second draw felt slower—my veins a little more sluggish, my body slightly fatigued. A dull ache settled in my arm where the needle sat. But none of it mattered.

All I could think about was Aiden.

That boy who I’d carried into this hospital. The boy who smiled up at me whenever I crossed onto Moonstone packland. The one who asked questions about wolves and territory and honor.

Who challenged me to a game of basketball and told me I was wearing the wrong shoes.

My son.

The realization hadn’t dulled. It only sharpened.

Every drop of blood sliding out of my body carried the weight of that truth.

My son.

As the blood trickled steadily down the line, I let my eyes close and gave myself over to the memories. Every grin. Every ridiculous question. Every little moment that had burrowed into me without me even knowing it.

He’d already changed me. Before I knew the truth. Before I ever had the right to claim him.

And I hadn’t known.

I hadn’t been there when he was born. I hadn’t held him on his first night or kissed his scraped knees or taught him how to tie his shoes.

I hadn’t been there the first time he got sick. Or scared.

And yet… he’d found me anyway.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away.

There was grief in that realization—grief for the time I’d lost, for the memories I would never get back. For the birthdays and bedtimes and everything in between.

But there was gratitude, too. Deep and reverent.

I had him now.

And there was fury, yes—burning hot and white at the thought of what had been kept from me. The lies. The silence. The ache of it all.

But none of that mattered as much as the vow rising in my chest.

I wasn’t going to lose him again.

The nurse reappeared, her eyes kind. She clamped off the line and wrapped my arm with steady hands, then checked my vitals, her fingers cool against my wrist.

“Still doing okay?” she asked.

I nodded, though my voice was gone.

“Stay seated for just a few more minutes, alright? Let your body catch up.”

I nodded again, but I barely heard her. My thoughts were a thousand miles away.

When I finally stood, the world tilted slightly—just a little. But I caught myself on the edge of the chair, breathed through it, and found my balance.

I stepped back into the waiting room, ready to confront Elena about all that had been kept from me.

But she was gone.