If Tomorrow Never Comes

NATALIA

Positive. Estimated gestation: 8 weeks.

I stared down at the slip of paper the nurse had handed me. Just a few lines of numbers, hormone levels, and bolded words I kept reading over and over again like they might change.

"Congratulations, Luna. You're two months pregnant."

The room blurred. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, the crisp white of the clinic walls suddenly too bright, too sterile. I blinked, sure I’d misheard.

“Pregnant?” I echoed, but my voice came out like a whisper dragged over gravel.

I pressed a hand to my stomach. Nothing had changed on the outside—no swell, no movement—but inside, something had shifted so profoundly I couldn’t breathe.

Pregnant. Andrei’s child.

And only thirty days left until our marriage contract ended.

My thoughts spiraled. A thousand emotions surged all at once—happiness, fear, and a terrible, fragile hope. For so long, I had dreamed of a future with him. Not the one written in ink, but one chosen. Real. And now, maybe…

Maybe this changed everything.

The nurse beamed and handed me a printout. "Two months along. Healthy vitals. Congratulations again."

There was no picture yet. No flicker of a heartbeat on a screen. Just data. Cold, clinical, undeniable.

And yet... my hands trembled as I held it. As if the paper itself might crumble under the weight of what it meant.

Inside me, something had already begun.

A life. A new thread in the tapestry of fate I never thought I’d get to weave.

My child.

Our child.

I pressed the paper against my chest and closed my eyes, trying to slow my breathing.

Our marriage had never been about love. It had been a matter of convenience, a strategic decision made by a man who’d lost everything—and a girl who had nothing left to lose.

When Andrei found me, I was barely surviving in a broken pack overrun by rogues. An orphan, unnoticed, unimportant. I hadn’t expected more than another bitter winter.

But the day he rode in with his warriors, cold and fierce as a blizzard, fate struck. One look—and I knew. My wolf knew.

We were mates.

But fate, I learned quickly, wasn’t always kind.

Even as he stared back at me with recognition, something in his eyes remained distant. Closed off. Like the door had been bolted from the inside and he had no intention of opening it again.

Andrei offered marriage—not love. A five-year contract. Terms were laid out like a business deal.

We would marry. I would serve as Luna. After five years, we’d reject each other unless he decided otherwise. I had no say.

At first, I thought the contract was because I was an orphan—Alphas are always cautious. But it didn’t take long for me to realize I was wrong.

The real reason... was Lilith.

Her name was a ghost in our home, clinging to walls and shadows. Her portraits still hung in the halls. Her books remained untouched in the study. Her perfume lingered in the bedroom drawers, as if she might return any minute and resume her place beside him.

Andrei had loved her deeply. Everyone knew it. He’d vowed at her funeral that he would never mark another. That his heart was buried with her. I suppose I thought, foolishly, that being his mate meant something stronger. Something unbreakable.

Because I believed—no, I hoped—that time would soften him. That if I poured enough of myself into this bond, if I showed him loyalty and grace—if I was the perfect Luna—he might one day look at me the way I imagined he used to look at her.

For the last four years, I had tried to be the Luna his pack needed—and the partner he didn’t ask for but desperately needed. I ran ceremonies, oversaw the infirmary, soothed disputes, protected the young, stood by him at every council. And I never once asked for more.

But inside, I wanted it all. The bond. The mark. His love.

And as each year slipped by, that hope began to dim.

Now, with just thirty days left, I had braced myself for the end. I’d even begun packing small things away, imagining what life might look like after rejection—banished from the pack I’d made home, from the people I’d come to love, from him.

But now…

A child.

Andrei’s child.

Werewolves revered children. They were proof of legacy, power, purpose. A bond made flesh. He couldn’t ignore that, could he?

Maybe this was fate’s way of rewriting our story. Maybe he would offer an extension—ten years, twenty. Maybe enough time to grow something real. Something permanent.

I left the clinic in a daze, my boots crunching softly on the gravel path. The market was still open, so I stopped in, heart fluttering with nervous excitement. I bought fresh herbs, vegetables, the cut of meat he liked best.

A bottle of red wine—non-alcoholic, of course. I wanted tonight to be special.

I would tell him at dinner. I’d light candles. Set the table by the fireplace. Tell him the news, and maybe—just maybe—he’d smile the way I’d always dreamed.

Maybe tonight would be the start of something new. The anniversary we chose, not the one fate dictated.

The packhouse buzzed as I walked through. A few wolves stopped to chat, noting the spring in my step.

“What’s the occasion, Luna?” someone asked with a wink.

I smiled, tucking the bag closer to my chest. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Andrei would be the first to know. He had to be.

I called him twice as I walked, but it rang through both times. No answer. I tried not to let it dampen my mood.

He was probably in a meeting or patrolling the southern border. These were dangerous times we lived in. He’d be home soon.

But when I reached the Alpha house, the air felt... different.

Too still. Too quiet.

I stepped inside. The maids startled at the sight of me—one dropped her eyes, another turned abruptly into the hallway. My brow furrowed. I glanced down the corridor and then—

Stopped.

At the door.

Two pairs of shoes rested neatly by the entrance.

One was Andrei’s.

The other... wasn’t.

Small. Feminine. New.

Not mine.

My heart skipped. Logic tried to assert itself. A healer, perhaps. A visitor. An envoy’s wife. But something deep inside me—my wolf—bristled.

I moved slowly, grocery bag still in hand, fingers tightening around the handles as I approached the bedroom. I reached for the door.

It wasn’t locked.

It opened too easily.

And inside—

Andrei sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around a woman, murmuring softly into her hair. She clung to him, crying quietly, her body curled into his as if she belonged there.

He turned at the sound of the door.

The look on his face—

Not fear. Not guilt.

Just surprise. And maybe… discomfort. Like he’d been caught in something intimate but inevitable.

He gently pulled away from her. She turned, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate hand.

And I saw her.

I knew her face instantly.

For one thing, it looked incredibly similar to mine. Everyone in the pack had commented at one point or another how much we looked alike.

So of course I had memorized her face without meaning to. Her smile smiled back at me from every photo that still lined the halls. Her perfume sat, untouched, on his nightstand. Her name was etched into every space in this house—even if most people didn’t dare say it out loud.

Lilith.

The dead were supposed to stay buried.

But she was here. Alive.

And in his arms.