5

As they wheeled me into surgery, Leon reached out to touch my forehead.

I could feel myself slipping away, but I forced the words out. "Save the pup... Please, save him..."

Leon nodded, and the doors closed between us.

When I woke up, Helen was the only one sitting by my bed. Leon wasn't there.

Helen told me the fall had caused a severe placental abruption. They hadn't been able to save the pup.

I stared at the bloodstained coat on the chair for a long time before I spoke. "I want to see him."

The blanket was soft, and he was smaller than I'd imagined.

I looked at him for a long time. He never moved.

I named him Noah.

I'd decided on it two nights before. When I said the name out loud, he'd kicked inside me.

Now I wrote his name on the farewell form, my hand shaking so badly I could barely hold the pen.

Leon didn't come back until evening. Nina told me he'd been called away to sort out both sides' statements.

"Clara says you grabbed the silver pin first."

He sat down by the bed, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

"I know you're hurting right now. Once you're feeling a little better, you can walk me through what happened."

I looked at him. "She pushed me. I tried to tell you right then, and you wouldn't let me finish."

Leon frowned. "I didn't see how you fell. And she really does have a silver burn on her arm."

I set the signed form on the edge of the bed.

Leon saw the baby's name, and his voice went hoarse. "Noah?"

"Yeah."

He covered his face with his hands.

I knew he was hurting too. But when he lowered his hands, what he said was, "Let the pup go in peace first. Don't keep fighting with the Ward family right now."

My voice shook with grief. "If it weren't for Clara, I wouldn't have lost my baby!"

His lips moved. All he said was, "There's no proof yet that it was her fault."

I closed my eyes and stopped arguing with him.

He didn't trust me. Not even our baby's death could make him see Clara for what she was.

With a mate who didn't trust me, nothing I said would ever matter.

...

On the day of Noah's cremation, Leon brought an unfinished little wooden wolf.

One of its ears was still rough with splinters.

"I wanted to give it to him when he was born..."

I watched him set the little wooden wolf next to the white flowers, and my eyes suddenly stung.

Then his phone rang. It was Clara.

Leon stepped outside. I heard him say, "I'll be over in a bit," and then he looked back at me.

A staff member was handing me the tiny urn.

I didn't wait for him. I held Noah close and walked out.

That afternoon, he sent me a settlement proposal.

Clara was willing to drop her claim that I'd hurt her with the silver pin. In exchange, neither side would pursue anything further, and the baby's death would be treated as an accident during an argument.

"Her father will cover the costs," Leon said. "At least you won't have to answer any more questions about it."

"And Noah?"

He looked down at the small white box on the table.

"We both lost him."

"So you want me to sign something saying nobody has to answer for it?"

Leon was quiet for a moment. "There's no full footage from that day. Even if you keep going, you might not get the result you want."

I gave the papers to Martha and had her send them back untouched.

He stood up. "Fine. We'll talk when you're ready."

"That day isn't coming."

He rubbed his forehead wearily, but he didn't take the proposal back.

On day 21, Helen reassessed my recovery. The final ritual to break the bond could still go ahead, but the pain of healing from surgery and the pain of breaking the bond would hit me at the same time.

She asked me to think it over carefully.

I didn't change the date.

Over the next few days, I finished the arrangements to bury Noah in White Bay and handed over everything at the lake house, item by item.

When Leon got the list, he told Owen to ask me to keep my key.

"She'll need it when she comes home."

When Owen passed that along, I asked him to take the key with him.

On day 27, Leon came by again with renovation plans for the lake house.

"We'll close up the nursery for now. Later, when you're ready..."

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

He paused. "I know. Martha sent me your schedule. Your mom's going with you, so I won't see you off."

He thought I was just going to stay with my parents for a while, like before.

I put the final notice in front of him.

"This isn't a little break. Tomorrow, our marks will be gone."

He didn't look at the paper. He looked at the urn in my arms.

"Every decision you're making right now is about losing Noah. I'm not going to argue with you. We'll talk when you've recovered."

I opened the door and showed him out.

On day 28, Helen peeled the last medicated patch off my neck.

My mother was with me, and Simon, the council witness, confirmed again that the consent we'd both signed still stood.

When the last of the link was cut, the pain made me grip the edge of the bed.

Liv wailed deep inside me. I coughed up blood and couldn't speak for a long time.

My mother wiped my mouth clean and held my hand until the shaking stopped.

I stayed in the recovery room for three hours. Only after Helen confirmed I was okay to travel did she hand my follow-up treatment records to my mother.

At 3:10 that afternoon, I boarded the train to White Bay with Noah in my arms.

I scrolled to the text Leon had sent that morning.

"Clara's getting her dressing changed today. I'll get in touch later. Call me when you get there."

I didn't reply.

The doors slid shut, and Blackpine's tall buildings fell away behind us.

The notice that the bond had been broken was already on his phone.

This time, no matter who he rushes to care for first, I won't wait anymore.