Page 104 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
What followed was the kind of chaos that only a family of five could generate. Charlie racing upstairs to examine the pregnancy test with scientific interest, three alphas trying to ask medical questions and express their joy simultaneously, and me laughing until I cried because this was my life now.
This beautiful, chaotic, love-filled life.
Seven months later.
Labor, as it turned out, was exactly as intense as everyone had warned me it would be. But what no one had mentioned was how surreal it would be to go through it surrounded by three alphas who were all trying to be supportive while managing their own instinctive responses to their mate in distress.
"You're doing amazing," Reed said for the hundredth time, his hand gripping mine with careful strength. "Just a little longer."
"You said that two hours ago," I panted between contractions, but I was smiling despite the pain.
"Because it's been true for two hours," Micah said from my other side, where he was providing a steady stream of encouragement and ice chips.
Jonah was handling the practical aspects, communicating with the medical team, timing contractions, making sure everyone knew what was happening. But I could see the awe in his expression, the wonder of watching new life enter the world.
Our new life.
When Emma Rose Maddox-West-Thornton finally made her appearance, screaming her displeasure at the cold, bright world outside the womb, I understood for the first time what people meant when they talked about love at first sight.
She was perfect. Tiny and red and furious, with a full head of dark hair and the kind of lungs that suggested she'd inheritedCharlie's opinions about everything. When the nurse placed her on my chest, still connected to me by the cord that had sustained her for nine months, I felt something click into place in my heart.
Complete. We were complete.
"She's beautiful," Jonah whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he gently touched her tiny fist.
"She's perfect," Reed added, his usual confidence replaced by the stunned reverence that came with witnessing miracles.
"She's ours," Micah said simply, and that word, ours, contained everything that mattered.
Charlie arrived at the hospital two hours later, having been brought by Aunt Emma as soon as we called with the news. She approached the bed with the careful steps of someone who understood she was about to meet the next important person in her expanding world.
"She's so small," Charlie whispered, her eyes wide with wonder as she studied her new sister. "Can I hold her?"
"Of course you can," I said, helping Charlie settle into the chair beside my bed before carefully transferring Emma into her arms. "You're her big sister. She's been waiting to meet you."
Watching Charlie hold Emma with the careful attention of someone who took her responsibilities seriously, I felt the last piece of my heart slide into place. This was my family. All of it. The three alphas who'd claimed me, the nine-year-old who'd adopted me, and the newborn who'd complete our pack.
Two years later.
The sound of Emma's laughter mixed with Charlie's voice reading a story echoed through our house as I put the finishing touches on my latest painting, a commission for the state arts council that would hang in their main office in Portland. The irony wasn't lost on me that the scared woman who'd fled Chicago three years ago was now creating art for government buildings.
How far we'd all come.
"Mama!" Emma's voice called from the living room, followed by the sound of toddler feet running across hardwood floors. At eighteen months, she was mobile, opinionated, and completely convinced that the world existed for her entertainment.
She wasn't wrong.
Emma appeared in my studio doorway, her dark curls escaping from the pigtails Charlie had carefully arranged that morning and her face bright with the kind of joy that only came from being absolutely secure in your place in the world.
"Up!" she demanded, raising her arms with the confidence of someone who'd never been refused comfort.
I set down my brush and scooped her into my arms, breathing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo and the unique fragrance that marked her as ours. Emma had inherited physical traits from all three of her fathers, Jonah's steady presence, Reed's mischievous smile, Micah's gentle nature, but her scent was purely pack, purely family.
Purely home.
"What are you and Charlie doing?" I asked, settling Emma on my hip as we walked toward the living room.
"Reading ‘bout dinosaurs," Emma said seriously, as if this was the most important activity in the world.
