Conflicted

During the rogue wolf attack, I was stabbed in the heart by a silver dagger while trying to save my son.

But when my Alpha mate arrived to rescue us, he ran straight toward his childhood sweetheart who was hiding off to the side.

"Aunt Sarah is a delicate Omega with no fighting ability, Dad. Save her first! Mom, you're so strong, just hold on a little longer!" my son called out.

Through blurry vision, I watched my mate carry another woman in his arms, rushing anxiously toward safety.

And my son, whom I had nearly died giving birth to, hovered protectively at her side, worried she might fall, occasionally steadying her with his small hand.

Not once did either of them look back at me.

My heart ached with bitterness. I was their family, their blood, yet in this life-or-death moment, they abandoned me without hesitation.

Today was my son's birthday. I had spent the entire day preparing a surprise party and baking a cake from scratch.

In the afternoon, I went to pick up Ethan from school, eager to see his face light up when he saw the surprise waiting at home.

But teacher told me that a woman had collected him two hours earlier to celebrate his birthday. Ethan had told the teachers she was his mother.

Confused and worried, I tracked his watch location to Moon Lake at the pack's border—the most dangerous area where rogue wolves had been attacking recently.

My heart raced with panic as I hurried to the lakeside, only to find my son affectionately hugging Sarah's arm, saying, "Thank you, Mom."

I approached with a cold expression, intending to take Ethan home. When he saw me, he violently pulled away from my reaching hand and turned to cling to Sarah's arm, eyeing me warily.

The pain was unbearable, but I stubbornly reached for him again.

My son bit down hard on my arm as I tried to grab him. His eyes held nothing but hatred.

"What right do you have to keep me from being with Aunt Sarah?" he snarled.

"If it weren't for you, Aunt Sarah would be my real mom. I wish you would just die!"

He must truly hate me to bite my arm until it bled.

While we were locked in this standoff, dozens of rogue wolves burst from the forest and attacked us. To protect my son, I blocked several wolves charging toward us and fought fiercely against them.

We were trapped, anxiously waiting for reinforcements.

My son never once looked at me. He stayed beside Sarah, comforting her like a little adult:

"Don't be afraid, Aunt Sarah. You're so important to Dad. He'll come rescue you first, I promise. He always says you're his true mate."

My heart nearly shattered at his words. Five years we'd been together—I'd nursed him, taught him to walk and talk, tended his fevers, chased away his nightmares.

Even a dog would form an attachment in that time.

But not him. He felt only hatred for me.

And his reasons for hating me were laughable—because I refused to buy ridiculously expensive toys, because I wouldn't let him skip his daily training.

Most importantly, because I wouldn't step aside and allow Sarah to become his mother.

Even so, when I saw a rogue wolf about to capture him, I didn't hesitate to rush forward and shield him with my body, ignoring the silver dagger aimed at me.

The attacker's blade pierced my chest, but my son pushed me away, worriedly grabbing Sarah's hand and asking if she was frightened.

Even when Alpha Derek arrived with his warriors, my son immediately ran to him, pulling the only healer on the battlefield to check Sarah's condition.

"Dad! Dad! Check Aunt Sarah first!" he cried, pointing urgently. "She's really scared!"

Ethan insisted, tugging at his father's arm. "Dad, save Aunt Sarah first. She's a delicate Omega who's never faced anything like this. Mom is so strong—she can hold on a little longer."

I smiled bitterly through my tears, pulling the silver dagger from my chest, and whispered:

"A penetrating wound from a silver blade... without a healer, I won't last much longer."

Five years ago today, I nearly bled to death in childbirth, lying on an operating table between life and death.

Before losing consciousness, I clutched Derek's hand, desperately begging him to save our child.

If the worst happened, I told him to choose the baby over me.

"If you have to choose," I had told him, my voice barely audible, "save the baby. Promise me."

But five years later, the child I nearly died giving birth to was clutching Derek's hand, begging him to save someone else first.

Derek gave me a cold glance as he lifted Sarah into his arms. His icy tone made me tremble.

He said: "Vivian, this is what you owe Sarah. Wait a little longer. The battle will end soon."

A powerful survival instinct forced me to speak up.

"Derek, I'm pregnant! You can hate me all you want, but you can't abandon the child in my womb!"

A flash of shock crossed Derek's eyes. He'd hardly been home lately. I hadn't told him yet, had been saving the news for after Ethan's birthday celebration.

Seeing his father's hesitation, Ethan angrily accused me, his childish voice rising to a shrill pitch:

"Mom, how can you be so selfish? How dare you lie to Dad like that?"

Sarah wept uncontrollably in Derek's arms.

The compassion in Derek's eyes quickly faded. Ignoring me, he turned and carried Sarah toward the healing center.

A cold numbness engulfed me as my breathing grew more labored.

Blood dripped steadily from the silver dagger in my hand.

I took one final deep breath and closed my eyes in despair.

Bitterness flooded my heart.

If only I had never started this cursed relationship.