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BrynleeI wake up before dawn again, just like I have for the past three mornings, with the familiar wave of nausea that I've been trying to convince myself is just lingering stress from my captivity. But as I slip quietly out of bed and pad to the bathroom, I can't ignore what my body has been trying to tell me.The signs have been there for over a week—the morning sickness, the exhaustion that goes beyond normal recovery fatigue, the way certain smells make me feel queasy. More importantly, I missed a heat and my period is now two weeks late, which would be easy to attribute to trauma and stress if not for the other symptoms.Could I really be pregnant?The thought fills me with such intense hope that I'm almost afraid to confirm it. Rhett and I have been trying on and off for years to have a baby together. He's never made me feel inadequate for not conceiving for him, never shown anything but complete love and acceptance of Maya as his daughter. But I've always wanted to give him a
Rhett After breakfast, we spend the morning in the backyard, discussing the logistics of converting a section of lawn into vegetable garden space. Maya has opinions about everything—the optimal location for tomatoes, whether we should grow corn (too tall, might shade other plants), and the importance of including flowers to attract beneficial insects.Watching Brynlee engage with Maya's enthusiastic gardening plans, I'm struck by how naturally she's slipped back into the role of mother and partner. Not the careful performance that characterized her behavior right after returning from the dimensional void, but a genuine eagerness to take part."We should get started on the raised beds soon," I observe, measuring the space Maya has designated for vegetables. "If we want to plant after the last frost, we'll need to prepare the soil in advance.""Can we go to the garden center this afternoon?" Maya asks. "I want to see what kinds of seeds they have.""Absolutely," Brynlee agrees. "We can
RhettTwo weeks after the rescue, I wake up to something I'd almost forgotten existed: peace.Brynlee is curled against my side, her breathing deep and even in genuine sleep rather than the restless, drug-induced unconsciousness that characterized her first few nights home. The mate bond hums steadily between us—not the overwhelming intensity we experienced right after her return, but the warm, reliable connection that defined our relationship for years.This, I think, watching sunlight filter through our bedroom curtains. This is what we were fighting to get back to.The past two weeks have been a revelation in learning how to love each other again. Not the desperate, clinging affection of people afraid they might lose each other again, but the deliberate choice to build something stronger than what we had before.We talk now. Really talk, instead of the careful conversations that characterized our relationship after her return. When the mate bond fluctuates—which it still does occas
BrynleeThe porch light is on, and I can see Maya's face pressed against the living room window, watching for our arrival. When she spots our truck, she disappears from the window and reappears at the front door before we've even parked."Mommy!" she shouts, racing down the front steps in her pajamas. "You're home! Are you okay? Daddy said you needed help but you're okay now!"I climb out of the truck on unsteady legs and catch my daughter as she launches herself into my arms. She's gotten taller in the few days I've been gone—or maybe I'm just more aware of how quickly she's growing, how much of her childhood I've already missed."I'm okay, baby," I tell her, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. "I'm home, and I'm going to be okay.""Promise?" she asks, pulling back to study my face with the serious expression she gets when she's checking adult emotional temperatures."Promise," I say, and through the mate bond, I can feel Rhett's satisfaction that I'm making co
Brynlee The drugs are wearing off in waves, leaving me alternately clear-headed and dizzy as my body fights to process whatever Dr. Gorian's people injected me with. One moment I'm fully aware of sitting in the passenger seat of Rhett's truck, his familiar scent grounding me in the reality of being rescued. The next, I'm struggling to focus through a chemical fog that makes everything feel distant and unreal."How are you doing?" Rhett asks for the third time in ten minutes, his voice carrying the careful concern of someone monitoring a potentially unstable situation."Better," I tell him, and it's mostly true. The nausea is fading, my coordination is returning, and most importantly, the mate bond feels stronger and more stable than it has since I came home from the dimensional void.But there's something fragile about our connection, like we're both afraid to trust it completely after weeks of unpredictable fluctuations."The bond," I say quietly, not sure how to ask what I need to
RhettI don't bother with the damaged storage room door. The wall beside it is standard drywall over metal studs—impressive looking but not built to withstand a desperate mate's determination.My shoulder hits the wall with enough force to crack the studs and tear through the drywall like paper. The dramatic entrance catches everyone in the room off guard, giving me precious seconds to assess the situation.Brynlee is on the floor, partially dressed in medical scrubs, struggling against the effects of whatever they just injected her with. Dr. Gorian—I recognize him from Harper's intelligence photos—stands beside two tactical guards who are reaching for weapons.Mate, Kian roars, flooding me with protective fury that borders on feral. They hurt our mate.The guards are trained and armed, but they're also human. They're fast, but I'm faster. They're strong, but desperation makes me stronger.The fight is brief and decisive. Military training is useful, but it's no match for a mate-bonde