Page 76 of Fat Betrayed Mate
He stares at me, this stranger who shares my blood but never my heart. "This isn't over," he says, but the threat sounds hollow, diminished.
"It is for me." I turn away, walking toward the sunlight without looking back.
Luna waits for me at the edge of the clearing, her presence a quiet offering of support. She still has a bandage on the side of her head from her injury, but she looks far better.
"You okay?" she asks as the transport pulls away.
"Better than I expected." I watch the vehicle disappear down the road, taking with it the shadow that's hung over my life for so long. "It's strange, but I feel... lighter."
"Freedom will do that." She links her arm through mine as we walk back toward the compound. "By the way, did you notice Ruby and James? They've been practically inseparable since yesterday's rescue operation."
I smile, grateful for the shift to ordinary pack gossip after the intensity of the moment. "Nic mentioned something about them working well together."
Luna snorts. "'Working well together' is one way to put it. I caught them behind the supply shed earlier. They weren't exactly discussing security protocols."
The mental image of straight-laced Ruby and stoic James sneaking moments together like teenagers makes me laugh—really laugh—for what feels like the first time in years.
***
I return home to find Thomas and Maisie in the kitchen, a dusting of flour covering both of them as they attempt to make cookies. Maisie stands on a chair, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she carefully measures vanilla extract.
"You have to be exact," she explains to Thomas with adorable seriousness. "Mama says baking is science."
"Your mama is very smart," Thomas agrees, catching my eye over her head with a smile that makes my heart flip in my chest.
"Mama!" Maisie brightens when she spots me. "We're making chocolate chip cookies! Daddy says they're his favorite, too, just like me!"
Daddy. The word falls so naturally from her lips, as if she's been saying it all her life. Thomas's expression—a mixture of joy and lingering disbelief—tells me he's still adjusting to the miracle of being claimed so readily by the daughter he didn't know existed until yesterday.
"Is that right?" I join them at the counter, accepting the spoon Maisie offers for tasting the dough. "Looks like you two have been busy."
"He showed me how to crack eggs without getting shells in the bowl," Maisie informs me proudly. "And he says tomorrow we can practice shifting together! Just a little bit, like paws and stuff."
"Did he now?" I raise an eyebrow at Thomas, who has the grace to look slightly sheepish.
"If that's okay with you," he adds quickly. "Dr. Knowles said controlled practice is good, and I thought—"
"It's perfect," I assure him, touched by his deference to my authority as Maisie's mother despite his eagerness to teach her. "She'll need both of us to guide her through this."
Dinner that evening feels surreal in its normalcy. We eat at my small kitchen table, Maisie chattering about everything and nothing, Thomas hanging on her every word like it's the most fascinating conversation he's ever had. I watch them together, this instant bond that seems to transcend the years ofseparation, and feel something long-broken inside me continue its healing.
"Are we going to live together now?" Maisie asks over dessert, the directness of children cutting straight to the heart of adult complexities. "Like a real family?"
Thomas and I exchange glances, neither quite ready to define what we're becoming.
"We're figuring things out," I tell her gently. "But we are a family, no matter what."
"Daddy has his own house," Maisie points out with impeccable five-year-old logic. "But he could stay here instead. There's room."
Thomas clears his throat. "It's a little complicated, pup. Grown-ups sometimes need time to..."
"To what?" Maisie's forehead furrows in genuine confusion. "You love Mama, and Mama loves you. That's what families do."
Her certainty—the absolute conviction that love should be simple, straightforward, uncomplicated by history or hurt—leaves us both momentarily speechless.
"We do love each other," Thomas says finally, his eyes meeting mine across the table. "We always have. But we're still finding our way back to each other."
"That's okay," Maisie declares with a shrug. "You don't have to be fast. Just don't get lost again."
