Chapter 13: A silver reminder

Serena

Time passed like a whisper.

Some days felt like they would never end. Others vanished before I could even understand them. But every single one built something. A routine. A rhythm. A quiet kind of peace.

The bakery grew warmer with each sunrise.

When we first started working there, it was small—barely five customers a day, and most of them just wanted coffee and day-old bread. But after Ma joined, everything changed.

She brought her old recipes with her—the ones she used to cook back at the Moonclaw estate. Warm honey-butter rolls. Soft, garlic-twisted loaves. Fluffy meat-stuffed buns that sold out before the sun even fully rose. She never bragged about it. She just worked with a quiet kind of magic.

And people noticed.

Word spread across the town. Now the line started before dawn. There was laughter in the kitchen, flour on our faces, and warmth in our chests. The woman who owned the bakery gave Ma her own key. She gave me a stool to sit on when my belly got too heavy. And for the first time in months, the fear of the past didn’t own every corner of our lives.

But still… he never left my mind.

Kael.

Even now, I couldn’t hear the word “Alpha” without flinching. Couldn’t see a tall man with broad shoulders walking down the street without my stomach tightening. Every time a black SUV passed the bakery, my breath caught in my throat.

But he never came.

Not once.

He never looked for me. Never sent anyone. Not a word. Not a letter. Not a whisper.

He had erased me.

I had tried to erase him too. But there was one thing I couldn’t undo.

The life growing inside me.

Now, I was nine months in. The bakery apron barely tied around my middle anymore, and my ankles swelled by midday. I could feel every kick. Every roll. Every hiccup.

He was strong.

He was stubborn.

He was mine.

I looked down at my belly as we closed up the bakery one cool evening. The sun had just dipped beneath the rooftops, leaving streaks of pink and gold across the sky. I wiped the counter slowly, my back aching and my fingers sore.

“You should sit,” Ma said, gently taking the cloth from me.

I smiled tiredly and eased myself down onto the stool. “I’m fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you say every day. One of these days, that baby’s going to drop right on this floor.”

I laughed softly. “Not today.”

But I was wrong.

That night, it began.

—

It started with a sharp pain in my back as I was brushing my hair in our tiny rented bathroom. I hissed quietly and leaned over the sink, trying to breathe through it.

Another one followed.

And then another.

And before I could even finish brushing my hair, my knees buckled.

“Ma!” I screamed.

The door burst open, and she was there in seconds.

She took one look at me and paled. “It’s time?”

I nodded, teeth gritted, a wave of pain tightening around my stomach like a vise.

“We’ll get you to the clinic,” she said quickly, grabbing my bag and keys. “Hold on, baby. Just hold on.”

The next hour was a blur of pain and panic. The clinic wasn’t far, but every step felt like fire ripping through me. The nurses moved fast once we arrived, pushing me into a room and helping me lie back on a clean white bed. The lights were bright, the air cold, the sheets starchy and rough.

Then the real pain began.

I didn’t scream at first. I didn’t want to. But it tore through me like a storm, wave after wave, with barely any breath between.

“Almost there,” the nurse whispered. “You’re doing so well, Serena. Just one more push.”

I bit down on my own fist, sweat pouring from my skin, and screamed.

I pushed.

And then—

A cry.

A loud, fierce cry that filled the room like music.

And suddenly it was over.

They placed him on my chest, small and wrinkled and perfect. His skin was warm. His body moved with tiny jerks, fists clenched, legs kicking. He cried louder, face red and scrunched like he was already angry at the world.

Tears poured from my eyes.

“Hi,” I whispered brokenly. “Hi, little one.”

Ma was crying too, her hand covering her mouth as she stood beside me. She reached out slowly and brushed his tiny head with her fingers.

“He’s beautiful,” she said through her tears.

I looked down at him.

And I froze.

Silver.

His eyes.

He opened them for just a moment—and they glowed.

Not blue. Not green. Not brown.

Silver. Bright, unmistakable silver.

My heart twisted in my chest.

It was Kael.

That exact color.

That haunting, stormy shine.

I couldn’t breathe.

Because in that moment, I wasn’t just looking at my son. I was staring into the past. Into the moment Kael had kissed me. Touched me. Rejected me. Destroyed me.

This child—this perfect, innocent baby—had his eyes.

And I didn’t know whether to smile… or shatter.

He cooed softly, lips puckering. I touched his cheek, my finger trembling.

“You look just like him,” I whispered.

But I wouldn’t let that scare me.

I wouldn’t let that define us.

I would not let his father’s rejection become this baby’s burden.

“You’re mine,” I whispered. “Not his. Mine.”

I kissed his forehead and cradled him closer.

Tears slipped down my face again. But this time, they were different.

Not just pain.

Not just regret.

But love.

Fierce, unconditional, and full of fire.

Because no matter how we got here… no matter who had broken me… this boy was worth every scar.

And I would never let anyone take him from me.

Not again.

Not even Kael.