Just a reminder to avoid confusion about the timeline of the story, as I've mentioned in the earlier parts of this book, a werewolf's pregnancy only takes 2-2.5 months before birthing.
The labor room is like a controlled chaos, with the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the hushed conversations of medical professionals, and my occasional muffled moans of pain and discomfort. In the midst of it all, I lay exhausted yet triumphant on the sterile hospital bed, my damp few strands of hair clinging to my forehead. Beads of sweat glisten on my skin as I prepare to cradle my newborn daughter in trembling arms. Dr. Miller carefully places the tiny bundle into my arms. The baby, swaddled in a soft blanket, seems to attempt opening her still close, swollen eyes. The weight of new life settles against my chest, a tangible affirmation of the incredible journey I’ve just traversed. Tears of joy and relief blur my vision as I gaze down at the fragile creature in my arms. The baby's delicate fingers wrapped around one of my own, creating an instant and unbreakable connection. To my side is Braxton. His eyes, filled with awe and adoration, meet mine as his hands reach out to wipe
The hospital room, a space that has become my world, harbors the echoes of countless emotions—joy and sorrow woven into the fabric of its sterile walls. Months have passed since the persistent hum of medical equipment became the backdrop to our days, and days since the arrival of the newest member of our family. I remember the first time I stepped into this hospital, the antiseptic scent clinging to the air, contradicting the warmth of life growing within. It's been years of watching my Maddox battle an illness that’s insurmountable, of holding his hand through the long nights and finding solace in the fact that every sunrise means another day of fighting. Then, the arrival of my Brayleigh, a burst of sunshine in the midst of the storm. Her cries mingle with the beeping of monitors, a symphony that encapsulates the bittersweet nature of life. The joy of her arrival, tempered by the reality that her blood can hold the key to her brother's recovery. As I perch on the edge of the bed,
It’s been hours since I laid back on the crisp sheets of the narrow hospital bed. The faint hum of machines and the antiseptic scent create an atmosphere that both comforts and haunts me. I glance at the empty space at the corner where my Maddox and his bed were there earlier before the nurses took them away. Braxton, sitting on a leather chair, his eyes fixed on the door as if willing the doctor to appear. His hands clutch a small notebook, its pages filled with medical jargon and hastily scribbled notes. His fingers tap a restless rhythm on the armrest, a physical manifestation of the tumultuous emotions churning within. The ticking clock on the wall echoes the anxious beats of my heart. The weight of our Maddox’s fate rested heavy in the room, casting a solemn shadow on us. Braxton looks at me, his eyes conveying fear and determination. He reaches for my hand, fingers intertwining as if seeking strength from the touch. Our silent exchange speaks volumes, a language formed through
I sit by the bedside, my fingers intertwined with those of Braxton’s as we wait for the verdict that’ll release our hearts from the cold grip of anxiety. Through the small mirror hanging on the wall, I stare at my reflection. My eyes bear the telltale signs of sleepless nights, etched with soft lines of worry and dark circles that betray the emotional toll of the past few days since our Maddox has undergone his much-needed surgery. My hair, usually neatly pulled back, now falls in loose waves around my face. The soft glow of the bedside lamp reflects in my hazel eyes, which flicker with exhaustion and a tenacious hope that refuses to waver. Braxton has his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. His eyes, tinged with weariness, still have a glimmer of resilience. The almost non-visible lines on his forehead mimic the burden we’re both carrying, but his stoic demeanor offers a sense of stability in the face of uncertainty. Our attention shifts to the small figure of our Maddox l
Life has a peculiar way of throwing storms at you when you least expect it. It's as if the universe conspires to test the strength of the bonds we hold dear. And there were times when I thought the storm had won, that the thunder and lightning would tear us apart. But here we are, still standing, still together. First, there's the soft warmth cradled in my arms – our Brayleigh, a delicate blossom of life that has graced our family. In the hush of the night, her tiny breaths become a lullaby, a reminder that life, in its purest form, is an exquisite gift. Each flutter of her thick curly eyelashes, every tiny yawn, is a manifestation of hope and renewal. She has brought a new chapter, a fresh narrative of love and laughter that continues to unfold with every passing day. And then, there's the triumphant cadence of our Maddox’s recovery. The journey through the shadowed corridors of illness has transformed into a sunlit path of resilience and healing. His laughter, once muffled by the wei
ELOISE’S POV: The sterile hospital room stands silent and still, its pale walls closing in on me. My trembling hands cling to the edge of the hospital bed, where my beloved child, Maddox, lies pale and fragile, like a delicate flower robbed of its vibrant bloom. Within this room, time has slowed, creating a sacred space where love and sorrow intertwine. I sit at my Maddox’s bedside, my heart aching due to our unfortunate circumstance. My Maddox’s tiny body is consumed by a relentless illness, a rare and deadly blood disease that no one, not even the experts, can name - a disease that he got because of my bullheadedness. Tubes and machines surround him, offering the only thread of hope for his life. The doctor said that my Maddox has a very low survival rate. Even so, as long as there’s still a possibility of him making it through, then I will continue to clutch to my remaining yet dwindling hope. I’ll keep on praying and believing that my Maddox will grow into a handsome, intel
“Good morning, everyone! Welcome to ‘A Morning with Lisa Show’! I'm your host, Lisa Reyes, and we have an incredible show lined up for you today. Our first guest is none other than the country’s hottest bachelor of 2022, Mr. Braxton Guttierrez!” Braxton Guttierrez - the name I avoid hearing for so long makes my heart twitch. But then that twitch turns into palpitation when the camera shifts to show him, sitting on the white couch next to the host. Braxton exudes an air of magnetic charm and undeniable allure. His physical appearance is striking, characterized by well-defined features that blend harmoniously to create a captivating presence. His face, sculpted with precision, showcases a strong jawline that adds a touch of masculinity to his overall appeal. His gold eyes, deep and penetrating, hold a spark of confidence and intelligence. His dark hair, meticulously styled, frames his face in a manner that perfectly complements his features. “I hope you’re doing great today, Mr. Gut
I stand beneath the imposing glass facade of the monolith, which boasts Braxton’s pack’s name - Shadow Mystic Enterprise. My heart pounds like a frightened creature as my hand reaches out to push open the polished doors that loom before me. Then my fingers, pale and delicate, tremble against the cold surface, reflecting my trepidation. The atrium, adorned with shimmering chandeliers that cast a warm glow on the marble floors. As I tread across the pristine expanse, my rugged shoes emit a rhythmic soft thump, resonating through the hallowed space and amplifying the symphony of voices and the occasional shrill ring of phones. I continue to tread my way in until I find myself standing before a gleaming floor-to-ceiling mirror. My reflection is a source of inner turmoil. I tug self-consciously at the hem of my charcoal-gray skirt, my fingers tracing the insecurities that’s nibbling my confidence. My hair has some loose strands falling from my messy bun, so I gather them between my fin