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96 - Devotion Is A Blade
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2025-06-23 07:04:29Ezra couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up without a stone lodged in his chest.
But this morning—he was light. Loose-limbed. Whole.Sunlight slanted across the room like melted gold, pooling over the rumpled sheets and the tangle of their bodies. Sebastian’s curls tickled his neck, a small palm resting right over Ezra’s stomach, fingers splayed like he’d mapped him in his sleep.Ezra kissed the top of his head. Lavender. Warmth. Peace.They’d gone again just before dawn—slow this time. Intimate. Sebastian had whispered something against his shoulder, something Ezra hadn’t caught but hadn’t needed to. He’d felt it. His Omega.No one could take that away from him now. Not even the ghost of his father, who would have thrown fists and threats, called him names, told him he was soft and disgusting. Ezra had buried all that with the man six feet under.His father couldn’t judge him from the grave. Couldn’t threaten to cut off h
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(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children 104 - Therapeutic Proximity
Night settled softly over the hospital. Outside the window, the world had dimmed to shadows and orange streetlight. Inside, the room was warm with too many bodies and too many feelings, but a kind of stillness had settled. The younger kids had gone home with the older twins. Ezra sat in the armchair near Sebastian’s bed, elbows on knees, silent. Sebastian was propped upright with pillows, blanket tucked around his waist, fingers absently rubbing a soft corner of the sheet. And Mia, freshly returned from her office, leaned against the far wall with her blazer draped over one arm, a quiet storm in heels. The room smelled different now. Ezra noticed it first, the shift in pheromones. Mia’s scent, once faint and green, had bloomed into something strong and layered: crisp citrus, vibrant with control and a low current of protectiveness, like lemon peel curled over smoke. Sebastian'
(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children 103 - Not This Time
The room was still.Even the machines seemed to hush beneath the weight of everything that had just been said.Then Mia uncrossed her legs with purpose, the sharp click of her black heels on the floor was the only sound as she stood, slow and deliberate, adjusting the jacket on her shoulders like a mantle of power. The tailored dress hugged her frame with precise elegance; the hem stopped mid-thigh, business and intimidation stitched into every thread. She walked past the boys with a flick of her gaze that told them not to move. The two younger kids parted instinctively, as if sensing royalty. Ezra tried to meet her eyes, but she didn’t look at him.Instead, she moved to Sebastian’s bedside.Her voice, when it came, was cool and clear. “Dr. Hennes, thank you. We’ll have follow-up questions, but I’d like a moment with my parents. Please give us the room.”Dr. Hennes blinked once, then nodded, glancing at the monitors. “
(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children 102 - Unmarked, Undone
Ezra came to slowly, the sterile brightness of the hospital room seeping into his senses like morning through fog. The sheets smelled of starch, but beneath that — lavender. Familiar. Sharp in his lungs. His heartbeat stumbled.He turned his head.Another bed. Just beside his.Sebastian.His Sebastian.His curls fanned all over his face. A soft flush painted his cheeks, and he looked… tired. Older. Beautiful. Ezra’s heart clanged against his ribs like it remembered something he hadn’t let himself think about in eight long years.Then something shifted in his peripheral vision.Two shadows loomed at the end of Sebastian’s bed — tall, broad-shouldered Alphas. Their stares cut through the room like knives. Protective. Angry. Ezra didn’t need to guess who they were.The twins.Caleb and Camden, the tiny six-year-olds he’d once bathed in the kitchen sink — now towering over him, jaws set
(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children 101 - Ghostlight
Ezra wandered the aisles of the bustling city grocery store, his hands loosely gripping a basket as his mind mulled over what to cook that night.Years had passed since Wesmere had been his only world, yet here he was again, just a few blocks from towering office buildings, signing papers with a lawyer who spoke too fast and smiled too tight. Everything was supposed to feel normal.But his heart was heavier than it should have been for such a mundane errand.Then—a scent.Spearmint.It came out of nowhere, slicing through the stale perfume of linoleum floors and produce mist like a blade. Sharp. Clean. Familiar.Ezra stopped mid-step, the basket swaying from his hand. That fragrance tugged at something buried deep—a thread long frayed but never severed. His breath stilled. His body tightened, alert and aching all at once.He followed it. He didn’t think, didn’t breathe, just moved—pulled down the aisles like a moth drift
(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children 100 - The Years Without Lavender
The years after Sebastian and the children left were slow and merciless.Ezra lived in a house that no longer smelled like home. The lavender was gone—faded into nothing. No citrus, no baby Alpha smell Now, only cold air and empty rooms greeted him, silent witnesses to a life that had unraveled.His days blurred into one another.Most mornings, Ezra woke with a heavy weight pressing on his chest, a suffocating mix of grief and loneliness that no amount of breath could ease.He would sit on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the peeling paint on the wall opposite him—the same wall he had stared at yesterday and the day before that. Sometimes for hours. Waiting for something to shift. For a sign that he still mattered. That he still existed.But the wall never answered.His body was a shell, his mind numbed by the high doses of suppressants he’d started taking to dull the ache—doctors warned him about the r
(Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children 99 - What We Took With Us
Sebastian moved silently through the house, the air tense and sharp, like the moment before a downpour. He packed with trembling hands, stuffing clothes and shoes into bags without order, each hurried motion trembling with emotion.Every folded shirt was a goodbye he hadn’t wanted to say. Every zipper that closed felt like sealing off another wound that hadn't healed.Ezra sat motionless in the living room, watching from the shadows. His breath was shallow, as if even that might break what little remained.He wanted to speak. To beg. To scream.But shame pinned him like a stone.Sebastian turned once, catching Ezra’s eyes. Ezra’s—wild and panicked. Sebastian’s—empty and gone.Not a word passed between them.Silence, thick and final, said everything.Sebastian moved to the bathroom. The water pounded against the tile like fists. Ezra stood like a ghost outside the door, frozen as the sound of muffled so
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