Three Alphas For The Wrong Bride

Zaria’s POV

The clock over the diner’s back door read 5:40 when I finally untied my apron.

The moment I stepped onto the pavement, my toes started throbbing. I walked with my feet turned slightly outward, trying not to put too much weight on them.

Behind the dumpsters, I counted my tips. Forty-one dollars and a handful of coins. I folded the money into the envelope with the rest of the week’s earnings, tucked it deep into my jacket pocket, and took off for the bus.

The 5:52 was already coming up. If I missed it, I’d miss the first visiting window and Odette would act like she wasn’t waiting for me.

She was awake when I got to her room. The oxygen tube was tucked under her nose, and her hair was flattened on one side from the pillow. She was staring at the door like she’d been watching it for an hour.

“You look terrible,” she said before I could even say good morning.

“You look worse, and you’re the one in the bed.” I chuckled and dropped my bag on the chair, going straight for her blanket.

It slipped down, leaving her feet sticking out at the bottom. I pulled it up and tucked it around her toes. They were cold.

I kept my hands there through the blanket for a second longer than I needed to.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

“I ate at work.”

“You’ve been telling me that since you were sixteen, Zaria. And every time, you smell like fried onions and nothing else.”

She raised one eyebrow at me, and I laughed, even though my throat felt tight. If I didn’t laugh, she’d start asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

She reached for my hand, and I gave it to her. Her grip felt weaker than it was last week. I noticed and just didn’t say anything.

Instead, I slowly rubbed my thumb over her knuckles gently, trying to bring back the warmth into her fingers.

“The nurse said your numbers were better yesterday,” I said.

“The nurse says that to everybody so they’ll tip her.” She coughed, a small, dry cough that made her whole face tighten until it passed. I poured her some water and held the cup while she took a few sips.

When she was done, she pushed it away and looked at me for a long moment.

“Go home and sleep, baby. You’ve got shadows under your eyes.”

“After I stop by the billing office.”

Her expression changed. “What do they want now?”

“Paperwork.” I kissed her forehead before she could study my face for too long. “Don’t fall asleep before I get back. I’m bringing you the good pudding.”

“There is no good pudding in this building.” She shrugged, squeezing her face.

“I’ll find some.”

The billing office was at the end of the ground floor, past the gift shop that was never open. A woman named Ms. Pruitt sat behind the glass. She looked up when I walked in, and she had that look people get when they already know they’re about to ruin your week.

She didn’t say anything and just turned her computer screen a little so I could see it.

Forty-eight thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars.

I read it twice, then a third time, waiting for the number to somehow change.

“That’s not right,” I said. “It was thirty-one thousand when I checked in June.”

“The new treatment isn’t covered the same way the first one was.” She looked genuinely sorry. “I’m so sorry. I flagged it as soon as it came through.”

She rested her hand flat on the desk.

“If the balance isn’t paid, or we don’t have a payment plan approved by Friday, the hospital has to move her to the county ward. I fought it as long as I could.”

“The county ward doesn’t have oxygen at night. My friend’s dad was there. They put him in a hallway.” My voice came out steadier, and I hated that it did.

I pulled the envelope from my jacket and set it on the counter.

“I can pay this now. It’s four hundred and twelve dollars. I can bring that every week and get a third job. I already asked the laundry on Mercer, they said maybe. I can sell her ring.”

“Sweetheart, the ring wouldn’t cover a day.” Ms. Pruitt pushed the envelope back toward me with two fingers, gently, like she was afraid of hurting me. “Keep your money. You’ll need it to eat.”

I stood there with the envelope still in my hand. For the first time, I couldn’t think of anything else I could offer.

Ms. Pruitt kept her eyes on her keyboard. After a moment, she lowered her voice. “Can I tell you something strange? Someone called yesterday about her account. They asked about the balance, the treatment plan, and the diagnosis dates. They already had the account number, all of it.”

“Who?”

“They wouldn’t leave me a name, but it was definitely a woman.” She paused. “She got pretty upset when I wouldn’t tell her anything.”

She looked up at me.

“I told her I couldn’t give her any information. But I thought you should know.”

I thanked her, and I don’t remember much after that.

I only remember the elevator smelling like floor cleaner, getting off on the wrong floor, realizing my mistake, and having to go back down.

When the doors opened onto Odette’s hallway, there were two people standing outside her room. Everyone else looked worn out, but these two didn’t.

The man had gray at his temples and wore a long dark coat. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, barely moving.

The woman beside him wore a cream-colored coat with a scarf tucked around her neck. She was looking through the window into Odette’s room.

Then she heard me step off the elevator and turned around.

Her eyes moved over my face, stopping at my forehead, then my eyebrows and mouth. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t blink.

“Visiting hours are over,” I said. “I mean, they’re only for family. If you’re looking for a patient, the front desk can help.”

“We’re not looking for a patient,” the woman said.

Her voice was quiet and careful, the kind of voice that never needed to be raised in public.

“We’re here to see you.”

The man took half a step forward. “You’ve grown,” he said, and I stepped back before I even realized I was doing it. He stopped right where he was.

“I think you have the wrong person.”

“Zaria Fenn,” the woman said.

I stared at her. Nobody called me that. Every form I ever filled out, school record, and pay slip had my name written as Zaria Marsh. Odette’s name.

The only place I had ever seen Fenn was in the small handwriting on the inside of my old baby blanket, something I noticed years ago but never thought to ask about.

My fingers tightened around the envelope until the paper bent beneath them.

“I don’t know you,” I said.

The man looked at the woman, and something passed between them that I couldn’t read. Then he turned back to me.

“You do,” he said in a low, even voice. “You just don’t remember. We’re your parents.”

Behind them, through the glass, the beeping from Odette’s monitor began to speed up.