Page 106 of Freeing My Alpha

Noah's smile is covered by his fist, so all I can see is his doting stare. It flips my heart.

He shakes his head. My sweet Omega... You’re absolutely beautiful with these kids. I’m having a total moment.

I bite my lip, my heart pounding. He’s picturing us watching our future kids graduate preschool, isn’t he? Just like I am.

Cory takes his certificate with a tooth-gap grin, turning to show his mom.

I squat beside him for a photo—his mom ready with her phone—but Cory turns to me, giving me a massive hug. My heart melts as he squeezes me hard, squealing in excitement beside my ear.

Oh, God. I can’t take this, Noah.

I verge between crying and laughing, my hands shaking as I rub Cory’s back. “I’m so proud of you, buddy! Congratulations, kindergartner!”

“Kindergartner!?” He squeals.

Cory’s mom laughs. “What do you say, Cory?”

“Thank you, Miss Matsuoka!” He dives in for a second hug, and the crowd of grown-ups burst into doting laughter.

But now I’m really struggling not to cry. Noah’s wolf courts mine in our bond, steadying my heart.

And I need it; by the time I get to Kelsi, every single kid has wanted a hug, and I’m an internal wreck.

“Come get your certificate, Kelsi!” I smile.

She’s distracted, searching for her grown-ups in the crowd.

Fuck, her mom couldn't make it to the ceremony.

Just before my heart snaps, Kelsi's aunt stands, her small figure emerging from the crowd. Kelsi's aunt turns her phone screen, showing Kelsi her mom watching the graduation on a video call.

Kelsi lets out a squealing giggle, running over to me to get her certificate.

I burst into laughter, relief flooding my chest. “Oh, my goodness! Congratulations, Kelsi!”

When she leaps into my arms for a hug, my heart aches. I’m going to miss her. Thankfully, she’s in our pack, but I won’t see her every day anymore. I squeeze her tight as the grown-ups laugh, unaware I’m about to sob if this little one doesn’t let me go when I set her back down.

Thankfully, Kelsi releases me, darting into the crowd to show her aunt and mom her certificate up close. Once the last student has their certificate, it takes at least 20 adults to herd the excited toddlers for a final picture. My heart burns as I look at their sweet, smiling faces, most of them already losing focus and wanting to go play. I should’ve gotten a group photo with them all too. Everyone is already dispersing.

My shoulders sink as the grown-ups reach for their kids, but Andy’s mom steps forward.

“Wait, we need one with Miss Matsuoka!”

The kids meander back to their spots, and I know better than to miss out when toddlers are cooperating. I rush behind the class for a photo, and the preschoolers giggle at my frantic run.

I sputter out a laugh. “You think that’s funny, huh?” I exaggerate my panicked movements, giggling with them. My laugh is genuine, screaming “cheese” with the kids for the camera.

The grown-ups lean in to snap another picture—or ten. Noah is behind them, taking one for me to keep.

I meet his eyes and laugh at his huge grin. If I could imagine how his inner wolf looks when he’s at his happiest, these eyes squinting with joy would be exactly it.

My heart might explode any second; I don’t think it can take much more cuteness today.

But all eyes are on me, expecting me to close out the ceremony before it erupts into chaos.

My stomach knots. I really hate saying goodbye on a normal year, but they don’t know it’s my last year teaching here, yet.

Swallowing hard, I smooth my clothes and put my smile back on. “I won’t keep you kindergartners long so you can go play, but I just wanted to say—” I glance at Noah, taking a deep breath. Then another. “I had so much fun with you, Class 34! I’m going to miss seeing your bright smiles every day next year, especially since it’s my last year teaching here.”

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