My Son Calls His Father “Alpha” Now

The moment my son, Leo, said those words, both Bruce and I froze.

In the 28 days since I’d realized Bruce’s heart wasn’t with us, every time he abandoned me and Leo for Fiona, I made Leo call him "Alpha Bruce."

It was a reminder, to both of us, not to waste our tears on someone who wasn’t worth it.

But that’s not how Leo saw it.

He was only seven, at an age where a boy hero-worships his father.

Every time I told him to say "Alpha," he would hesitate before murmuring the word.

But today, he said it on his own.

It rolled off his tongue, smooth and final, as if he’d rehearsed it in his heart a thousand times.

Seeing us stunned, Leo took my hand. "Go on, Alpha," he said to Bruce. "You're busy."

Then he looked at me.

"Let's go, Mom."

He pulled me into the photo studio.

The family portrait had been Bruce’s idea, a way to make up for missing Leo’s birthday.

Leo had been looking forward to it for two weeks.

I followed him woodenly, my heart twisted with a bitter pang.

It all started with a receipt.

He’d taken Fiona to dinner and forgotten to take the receipt out of his pocket. It was from the Moonlight Restaurant, famous for its romantic atmosphere. A dinner for two.

I’d asked him to take me there for our last mating anniversary, to recapture the magic of when we first bonded.

Bruce had refused. "An Alpha's time shouldn't be wasted on pointless romance," he’d said.

A few days later, he took Fiona.

I found her post on her pack’s social feed.

[A romantic restaurant is meant for someone who appreciates romance.]

The picture was of her and Bruce, clinking glasses under the moonlight.

Fiona was his old flame, a supposedly fragile Omega with a pup.

That night, we had the worst fight of our lives.

I told him I was filing a petition with the Elders to sever our mate bond.

Bruce called me unreasonable.

He asked how I could be so cruel as to leave the future Alpha of the pack without a father.

He swore to the Moon Goddess that it was nothing more than an Alpha’s duty to protect the weaker members of the pack.

Seeing Leo’s face, pale with fear, I practically bit my tongue in half.

I knew if I dragged my son away from him, Leo would never forget his father.

But I also knew that one betrayal leads to a thousand more.

I wouldn’t let my son suffer for what he called "protection."

So I chose another way. I tricked Bruce into signing the dissolution papers.

When I gave the agreement to the Head Elder, he sighed. "There are 30 days until the next full moon, when the sacred grounds open," he reminded me. "If you change your mind within these 30 days, come back for this document. I'll act as if nothing happened, and I won't tell the Alpha."

I won't regret this, I promised myself.

So for the next 30 days, I did everything I could to help my son detach.

Today was day 28.

And Leo had called Bruce "Alpha" all by himself.

I felt my son’s body trembling slightly against mine, but there was no victory in it, only the feeling of a thousand icy needles piercing my heart.

We had already walked a few feet away when Bruce finally snapped out of it.

He took a few steps after us, about to ask what was wrong, but his phone rang again. It was Fiona’s delicate, tearful voice.

"Bruce, where are you? Tony won't stop crying. I can't calm him down."

Bruce stopped in his tracks. "Okay," he said into the phone. "I know. I'm on my way."

He sent me a quick text—We’ll talk later—and turned away without a second thought.

The roar of his truck's engine faded into the distance.

Leo stopped walking and buried his face in my shoulder, his tears soaking through my shirt.

"Mom," he whispered.

"Can we... not have a dad anymore?"