Chapter 60

Esther’s POV

Sofia’s handwriting was a battlefield of backwards letters and overexcited loops. The little envelope landed on our kitchen table like a spark from another world.

“Look!” she chirped, cheeks flushed from the late-summer heat. “I wrote it all by myself. No help from Carl!”

She shoved the folded card into my hands. A glitter-pen drawing of a wolf and two stick-figure kids beamed up at me from the cover. Inside, under a lopsided rainbow, she’d scrawled:

Dear Mr. Nicholas,

It’s our birthday on Saturday. Carl says you’re scary but I like you. Please come.

Love, Sofia.

My stomach twisted. “Sofia…”

“Will you put it in the mail?” she said quickly, eyes sparkling. “Dan gave me the address! He said it would get there fast.”

Carl scowled from his seat, hunched over a math worksheet. “He won’t come. He’s too important. You’re wasting stamps.”

Sofia pouted. “He will.”

I smoothed the paper. Nicholas’s name sat there like a wound. “Sweetheart, why invite him?”

“Because it’s our birthday,” she said simply. “And because he looked sad last time.”

That last sentence punched the air from my lungs. “Sad?”

She nodded, braids bouncing. “When he gave me the daisy. He looked like he wanted to smile but forgot how.”

I folded the card closed, thumb on the rainbow.

God, Sharon, I whispered inwardly, what am I supposed to do? My wolf stirred faintly but gave no words.

That night, after the twins went to bed, I sat at the kitchen table with the invitation.

My fingers hovered over it. If I tore it now, maybe it would save us all another storm. Nicholas had already cost me so many sleepless nights, so much fear.

But Sofia’s little smile flashed behind my eyelids.

With a sigh, I stood and walked out to the mailbox to send it.

“Let it be,” I murmured as I dropped it into the slot.

He wouldn’t come anyway.

Saturday dawned bright and sticky. The twins bounced between me and the cake boxes like pinballs. Carl had tried to act uninterested all week but now he wore his new shirt and smoothed his hair with an almost nervous precision.

“Mom,” he asked quietly as I adjusted his collar, “what if he really shows up?”

I met his gray-gold eyes, the only part of Nicholas he couldn’t hide. “Then you’ll smile and say thank you. You don’t have to do more than that.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll still have cake.”

He nodded, biting his lip.

I looked at both of them—their hands, their faces, their hopeful dread—and felt the ache of years balancing on a knife’s edge.

“Listen,” I said softly. “Sometimes grown-ups can’t be what you want them to be. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

They blinked up at me. Sofia tugged my sleeve. “But I still want him to come.”

“I know.” I kissed her forehead. “We’ll see.”

By midafternoon the backyard of our Blue Lake cottage had transformed into a child’s kingdom. Streamers draped from the oak tree, a rented bounce house crouched on the grass, and a dozen kids from the pack squealed under the sprinkler. Kevin had offered to host at the main hall, but I’d refused. This needed to be ours.

I kept one eye on the road. No black SUV, no scent of him.

Carl caught me looking and muttered, “Told you.”

Sofia, oblivious, twirled in her new dress.

“He’ll come,” she insisted. “He said he likes birthdays.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Nicholas’s POV

The invitation sat on my desk for three days, taunting me.

At first I’d tossed it unopened into the out-tray. Then Norman had clawed it back into my lap.

Read it, he’d urged.

When I did, the glitter scene she’d drawn punched harder than any elder’s accusation.

“She shouldn’t even know my address,” I muttered.

Dan, Norman said smugly.

I shoved the card under a file. “I’m not going. It’s a trap.”

It’s a birthday, Norman countered. For our pups.

“They’re not—” But my voice cracked.

For three days I refused to look at it. But on the morning of the party I found myself standing at the window, watching sunlight creep across the training yard.

By noon I’d lost the argument with myself.

“One hour,” I told Norman. “We go, we give the gift, we leave.”

Whatever you say, he purred.

The Blue Lake Pack smelled of pine and river water. I parked two streets away, pulling on a dark jacket instead of my usual Alpha coat. The last thing the kids needed was a spectacle.

Laughter drifted from the cottage backyard, high-pitched and unguarded.

For a moment I stood at the gate, palms sweating like a boy about to crash a school dance.

Then Sofia saw me.

She gasped, dropping her cupcake, and sprinted across the lawn. “You came! You came!”

She collided with my knees, arms wrapped tight. I froze, the scent of frosting and grass filling my head.

Norman gave a little satisfied chuff. See?

I crouched awkwardly. “Happy birthday, little wolf.”

Carl appeared behind her, arms crossed. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true but close enough.

Sofia grabbed my hand. “Come see the cake!”

Inside the yard, parents whispered. They knew exactly who I was. Some pulled their kids closer. Others just stared.

Esther emerged from the kitchen doorway holding a tray of drinks. She froze midstep when she saw me.

For a second neither of us moved. Her dress was simple but soft, hair pinned back. There were shadows under her eyes I hadn’t put there but maybe had helped deepen.

“Alpha,” she said finally, voice low.

“Doctor,” I returned.

Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. The kids danced between us, oblivious.

I held out a wrapped box. “For them.”

She took it gingerly. “Thank you.”

Our fingers brushed. A tremor zipped up my arm. Her eyes flicked away first.

Sofia demanded I sit beside her at the picnic table. Carl tolerated my presence but kept his body angled protectively toward his sister.

“Make a wish!” someone shouted.

Sofia closed her eyes, then blew out the candles. When she opened them she looked straight at me.

“I wished you’d stay for cake.”

A ripple of chuckles rolled through the adults. I felt my ears heat.

“Then I’d better,” I said.

The cake was terrible—too much frosting, not enough structure—but Sofia fed me a bite on a plastic fork and laughed when I made a face. Carl snorted but I caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Norman murmured, They’re ours.

Stop, I warned him silently.

But my hand still drifted once to ruffle Carl’s hair. He stiffened, then didn’t move away.

Sofia beamed. “See? I told you he’s nice.”

Esther’s gaze caught mine across the table. Something complicated moved there—weariness, caution, and maybe the faintest question.

Later, after gifts and games, I found myself alone by the fence as the sun dipped. Carl was showing other kids his new puzzle, Sofia darted between balloons. Esther approached quietly, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said.

“You didn’t have to invite me.”

“I didn’t.” Her lips curved faintly. “Sofia did.”

A silence stretched.

“She’s… a good kid,” I said at last.

“They both are.”

“I can see that.”

She nodded, eyes on her children. “They’ve been through enough.”

I hesitated. “I’m not here to make things harder.”

“That’s a first,” she murmured.

It stung, but I let it pass.

Norman whispered, Tell her the truth.

I almost did. But Carl’s laughter broke across the yard just then, and the moment snapped.

When I finally left, twilight draped the street. Sofia ran to the gate to hug me again.

“Thank you for coming! Did you have fun?”

I crouched, looking into her bright, trusting eyes.

“More than I expected,” I said honestly.

She tilted her head. “Will you come again?”

I swallowed. “If I’m invited.”

“Then I’ll invite you.”

Behind her Carl muttered, “We’ll see.”

But his tone had softened.

As I walked back to my car, Norman padded alongside inside my chest, silent for once. Then, softly: You could be a father to them.

“They’re not mine,” I said automatically.

Norman only huffed. Then why does it feel like coming home?

I had no answer.

At the car I glanced back one last time. Esther was kneeling in the grass, helping Carl assemble his puzzle while Sofia fluttered around them like a small sun. For a heartbeat the three of them looked up, catching me watching.

Esther’s eyes held mine across the twilight. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But maybe the start of something else.

I drove away before I could ruin it.