Rosalie
"You are pregnant."
I blinked rapidly, my vision blurring for a moment before the room came back into focus. The pack's doctor was watching me intently, his pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of the chart on his desk.
Pregnant? I couldn't wrap my mind around it.
For the past few weeks, I'd been feeling unusually weak, my energy dipping lower with each passing day. My workload hadn't helped; when my partner decided to take an extended vacation, I had stepped in to cover for her. The long hours and physical demands had drained me, leaving me perpetually on the brink of collapse.
Eventually, I couldn't ignore it any longer. The doctor had sought me out himself, voicing the concerns of everyone around me. I thought it was nothing serious—just exhaustion, maybe a vitamin deficiency. But this? This felt surreal.
"What... What did you say?" My voice cracked as I struggled to process his words.
I couldn't be pregnant. That wasn't possible.
The doctor sighed, the sound heavy with irritation, but there was a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. He must have dealt with enough patients like me to expect this kind of disbelief.
"You're pregnant, Miss Ravenswood," he repeated, his tone firm but calm. "Here, let me show you."
He swiveled the computer monitor toward me, pulling up an image that looked like a gray, grainy mystery. I squinted at the screen as he pointed with the tip of his pen to a small, rounded shape nestled within the indistinct blur.
"This right here," he said, tapping gently on the screen, "is your baby. Congratulations."
His tone was unexpectedly cheerful, but I felt my blood turn to ice, freezing in my veins. Me? Pregnant? That was absurd. Impossible.
A surge of disbelief coursed through me, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to reach across the desk and slap the doctor for spouting such nonsense. My fist clenched tightly beneath his desk, nails digging into my palm as a suffocating sensation coiled around my throat, squeezing the air out of my lungs like an invisible scarf.
And then, like a dam breaking, the memories of my wedding night came flooding back.
My stomach churned violently, and I had to press a hand against my abdomen to steady myself. Was it nausea? Anxiety? Or something far worse? A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips. Morning sickness already? That would be too ironic.
Yes, we had slept together—because we had to. It was expected of us. I wouldn't lie and say I didn't want it, though. In truth, that night had been more than just "agreeably passionate."
Still, was it really possible to get pregnant so easily? Could life be so cruel as to make the one night of surrender into something this... permanent?
I left the doctor's office feeling hollow, like a shell of myself. My legs carried me forward on instinct alone, my mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.
I should have been relieved to know my weakness wasn't some fatal disease, but instead, I felt as though I'd been handed a far more life-altering diagnosis.
I was with child.
Christopher's child.
***
"Rosie, you're still working?"
Amanda peeked into my bakery, her voice carrying a playful scold as she fixed me with a look of mock disapproval. Her fists planted firmly on her hips, she cut a figure that was both stern and endearing.
Her soft blond curls were tied up in a loose bun at the crown of her head, with a few strands escaping to frame her round, rosy face. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with warmth, complementing her overall soft and fluffy appearance—a perfect reflection of her personality.
Stepping fully inside, Amanda shook the snow off the hood of her coat, sending tiny white flakes scattering to the floor. She removed her gloves and began scanning the glass counter with the keen eye of a seasoned regular, inspecting the remaining pastries on display.
This January had been particularly snowy—an endless stretch of frosty mornings and icy evenings. The cold seemed to amplify everyone's cravings for something sweet and comforting, and our bakery had become a local haven.
It had been six years since I'd opened this place, a dream realized with my grandfather's support. Amanda, for better or worse, had become our most loyal (and demanding) customer.
"I saved some éclairs for you and David," reaching beneath the counter, I pulled out a neat pink box and placed it on top. Inside were four perfectly made éclairs, their glossy chocolate glaze gleaming under the soft shop lights.
Amanda's face lit up with gratitude, her usual cheerfulness softening into something tender.
As a single mother, she juggled a lot, and I knew her little boy's love for sweets—especially éclairs—often added to her already full plate. David had a sweet tooth like no other, and on more than one occasion, Amanda had confessed to me that he'd thrown a full-blown tantrum if she couldn't bring home his favorite treat.
After a brief, friendly chat filled with her laughter and updates about David's latest antics, Amanda headed out into the snowy evening with her pink box in hand.
As I packed my belongings into a worn duffle bag and locked the front door of the bakery, a sudden distant commotion pulled my attention.
Curious murmurs echoed through the chilly evening air, and I turned my head to see a small crowd gathering on one of the neighboring streets. Before I could make sense of what was happening, a convoy of sleek black cars sped past me in a blur, their tinted windows gleaming under the faint glow of the streetlights.
The low hum of powerful engines filled the air, and my eyes narrowed as I caught sight of the number plates—each displaying the same privileged sequence of digits.
There's no way...
My breath hitched. Those plates were not just ordinary; they were reserved for a very specific group of people––the Moonshadow pack. And as I watched the procession of vehicles glide through the narrow streets of rogue territory, my stomach churned with a sinking certainty.
I didn't need to see through the tinted glass to know who was seated in the back of the central black SUV.
It could only be him.
There wasn't even time to process the whirlwind of emotions that struck me like a sudden storm. My legs moved before my mind caught up, and before I knew it, I was running, feet pounding against the icy pavement. I cursed under my breath, blaming the Moon Goddess for her cruel sense of humor, for weaving a fate I couldn't escape.
The freezing air stung my lungs, each breath like shards of glass cutting through me. My body trembled, the adrenaline coursing through my veins barely enough to steady me as I navigated the dimly lit alley that led toward my home.
Six years... The thought pounded in my head like a relentless drumbeat. Six years of quiet, of distance, of a life I thought was behind me.
I clenched my teeth, the chill creeping into the back of my nose as I inhaled deeply, fighting the rising panic.
Why now?
Why ever?