Page 73 of Real

One year later…

I addcarrots to the third bento box and snap the lid shut.

“Hurry, or you’re going to be late for school!” Timothy calls out. He approaches me from behind, wrapping his big arms around my swollen belly. “Good morning, baby. Thanks for making lunches for the kids.”

Three little red-headed children scurry into the kitchen that we designed to look exactly like the kitchen in our imaginary cabin. We don’t live in the same building as the Den of Dreams. We didn’t want to take away Illusor-zoned housing from the employees who needed it. Instead, we moved into Dorian’s old apartment two blocks away, and the Illusors helped us do the necessary remodeling make it our own.

Little Maisy holds out a tiny white tooth. “Look, Daddy! My tooth came out!”

Thank the Lights. She’d been wiggling that thing for weeks.

“We need to do your hair, little miss,” Timothy says, releasing me and taking her tiny hand to lead her back to the bathroom.

Maisy’s only been in our family for two months. She’s adjusting so well. Over the last year, Steppe has contacted Timothy every time a mixed species shifter ends up at the shelter. Maisy’s like Candlewick: half red wolf, half fox. Our two boys are half grizzly. We’ve had them for nine months.

The last nine months have been the best of my life.

“I don’t want carrots in my lunch,” Merrick whines. He’s nine, and the oldest of the two boys. They’ve had a harder time adjusting than Maisy.

“You don’t have to eat them. They’re just there if you want them,” I repeat for the millionth time. The boys have bounced from foster home to foster home most of their lives and food has been a struggle with them. Their last family let them eat whatever they wanted.

Honestly, there are days when I don’t blame their last foster parents. I’m so sick of fighting with them about food.

“What else did you pack?” Skylar asks, grabbing for one of the bento boxes.

“Almond butter and homemade bread. Your favorite,” I say.

He smiles shyly. I’ll never get enough of that smile. He had a hard time trusting Timothy and me in the beginning. There are still days when he lashes out or refuses to do what I tell him. That’s okay. Having a child that’s mine to care for is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.

Except loving Timothy, of course. Nothing could be better than that.

“I put raspberries in there for you,” I tell Merrick.

He does this petulant half smile that’s the closest thing to a “thank you” I ever get from him.

The boys each take a lunch box and stuff it into their backpacks by the door. Our apartment doesn’t have a fireplace like our imaginary cabin, but it does have the same couch. The Illusors brought it here as a house-warming gift. Merrick plops down on it and steps into his shoes.

The apartment that used to be fashionably decorated and pristine is now cluttered with the kids’ stuff and riddled with scuffs on the walls and floors. It’s so different from the house I lived in for the first twenty years of my life, which is what makes it absolutely perfect.

Timothy emerges from the hallway with Maisy. She has lopsided pigtails and a smile that’s now missing a front tooth.

“Don’t forget to buy more oranges,” I remind him. When I first started eating, I wanted to try everything under the sun. Timothy and I took frequent trips to the grocery store to buy twelve different kinds of yogurt or one of each fruit. But once I got pregnant, my palate changed dramatically. During the first three months, I couldn’t keep much down. I resorted to a diet of saltine crackers that I ate slowly before bed each night so I wouldn’t throw them up. Once I hit the fourth month, my diet changed again. Now I want endless amounts of oranges and chocolate ice cream.

Timothy leans in and gives me a kiss. “I won’t forget.” He presses the fingertips of his right hand against my belly. It’s a custom amongst the Illusors. The alphas send their light into their mate’s belly every morning of their pregnancy in the hope that their children will be born with light magic that’s strong and thick. Timothy doesn’t have light in his fingertips, but it means a lot to me that he hopes our children will have Illusor blood.

If they do, the government will put a tracker on their ankles, and their lives will be very different. That scares me. Timothy is scared of that too, but he tells me that we’ll teach them how to be proud of who they are, no matter what the government or other people think.

I hope that’s possible.

Timothy grabs his keys, and the kids rush to the door. “I’ll be back in an hour, and we can go to your doctor’s appointment together.”

“Don’t you have work? You don’t have to come with me.”

Timothy doesn’t work at the sanctuary anymore. He got a job in the city at a daycare for mixed shifter families. The children there are happy and well adjusted. I think that’s been good for him to see.

The children at the sanctuary needed him, but seeing their suffering for so long took a toll. There will be other social workers who can care for those children. Timothy doesn’t have to sentence himself to a life of misery for them.

He’s allowed to be happy too.

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