Chapter 7: The Airport

The airport terminal blurred into streaks of fluorescent light and hurried strangers as I pushed through the glass doors.

My heels clicked against the polished floor—sharp, deliberate, the only sound louder than my heartbeat. Each step felt like ripping off a bandage that had fused to skin over five years.

Behind me, Rowan’s voice had fractured into something raw. “Ava, wait—please.” It wasn’t a command anymore. Not like the night he’d ordered me dragged to the border, the pack’s eyes averted, my belly already rounding with the life we’d made. Back then his word was law. Now it was just a plea, thin against the roar in my ears.

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. If I saw Ivy’s face again—those wide hazel eyes that were his mirror, the same stubborn curl to her lip I’d kissed a thousand times in secret—I’d shatter. And I’d promised myself, the day I clawed my way out of that ravine with blood in my mouth and nothing but rage to keep me moving, that I would never break for him again.

The taxi rank was just beyond the sliding doors. Rain sheeted down outside, turning the world silver-gray. I raised a hand, and a yellow cab pulled up almost immediately. I slid into the back seat, suitcase thumping beside me like an anchor.

“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing in the rearview.

“Anywhere but here,” I said. Then, quieter: “The downtown medical district. St. Augustine’s Hospital.”

He nodded without question and pulled away.

I pressed my forehead to the cool window, watching the airport shrink in the side mirror until it was swallowed by traffic and neon.

My reflection stared back—pale, composed, the doctor mask I’d worn like armor since the day I woke up in a human ER with stitches in my side and no pack scent on my skin.

Five years of night shifts, textbooks, caffeine, and pretending the moon didn’t call to me anymore. Five years of raising Ivy in hiding, teaching her to call me “Mama” instead of the titles that would mark her as prey.

But she’d called me Mommy today. Out loud. To him.

The sob caught in my throat, ugly and sudden. I swallowed it down. No. Not here. Not in front of a stranger.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I ignored it. It buzzed again—insistent. I pulled it out just enough to see the screen.

Unknown number.

A text: She’s asking for you. She won’t stop crying. Please, Ava. Just tell me where you are.

Rowan.

I stared at the words until they swam. My thumb hovered over delete, but instead I typed one line:

You had five years to find us. You didn’t. Live with it.

Sent.

Then I blocked the number.

The cab slowed in front of the hospital’s glowing entrance. I paid in cash, grabbed my suitcase, and stepped into the rain. It soaked through my blazer in seconds, cold and cleansing. Inside the lobby, the familiar smell of antiseptic and coffee hit me like home.

Dr. Elena Reyes—my mentor, my lifeline these past years—waited by the elevators. She’d been the one to stitch me up that first night, the one who’d listened without judgment when I finally told her the truth about werewolves and rejected mates and a daughter I’d hidden from the world.

She took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug without a word.

“Bad day?” she murmured.

“The worst,” I whispered back.

She steered me toward the staff lounge. “Come on. Coffee first. Then you tell me everything.”

We sat at the small table by the window. Rain drummed against the glass. I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms.

“I saw him,” I said finally. “Rowan. And Ivy… she knew. She called me Mommy.”

Elena’s eyes softened. “And you walked away.”

“I had to.” My voice cracked. “If I stayed, I’d forgive him. And he doesn’t deserve that.

Not after what he did.”

She nodded slowly. “Forgiveness isn’t a debt he gets to collect. It’s yours to give—or not—when you’re ready. Or never.”

I stared into the black coffee. “I keep seeing her little hand in my blazer. The way she hugged me like she’d never let go. What kind of mother leaves her child?”

“The kind who knows staying would teach that child that love means pain. That safety is conditional.” Elena reached across the table, squeezed my wrist. “You survived.

You built a life. You kept her alive when the pack would’ve let you both die. That’s not abandonment, Ava. That’s protection.”

Tears slipped free then, hot and quiet. I didn’t wipe them away.

“She’s with him now,” I said. “Safe, I think. He looked… broken.”

“Good,” she said simply. “Let him feel a fraction of what you carried alone.”

I exhaled, shaky. “I don’t know what comes next.”

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it tonight. Or tomorrow. You’ve got time.

You’ve got us.” She gestured vaguely at the hospital around us—the night shift nurses laughing in the hall, the monitors beeping steadily. “And you’ve got her.

Always. Even if it’s from a distance until she’s old enough to choose.”

I thought of Ivy’s puzzled voice echoing down the terminal: Why is Mommy leaving again?

Maybe one day she’d understand. Maybe one day she’d find me. Or maybe I’d find the strength to go back—not for him, but for her. On my terms.

For now, though, I sat in the quiet glow of the lounge, rain washing the world clean outside, and let myself breathe.

One breath. Then another.

Not running anymore.

Just… surviving.