All Chapters of (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The city apartment felt too big for one man, even though it wasn’t all that large. Just two bedrooms and a galley kitchen that Ezra never bothered to cook in anymore. It was clean, in a half-lived-in kind of way: mail stacked on the counter, an unmade bed, a pile of takeout containers waiting by the door.He hadn't unpacked the boxes Clara had left behind. Not really. Her coffee mugs still sat in the top cupboard, out of sight but never really out of mind. A single bobby pin in the bathroom drawer, an old flannel of hers buried at the bottom of the laundry basket, the scent of her perfume still lingering faintly in the fibers of the couch.Ezra Anderson used to like coming home. Now the silence pressed in like humidity.He sat at the small dining table, boots kicked off, still in the dark jeans and canvas work shirt he’d worn to the construction site. His hands were raw from sanding beams, but he hadn’t noticed until he saw the cracked skin around his knuckles.Work was the only thi

Ezra hadn’t stepped foot on the old property in over eight years. Not since his father’s funeral. He hadn’t seen Megan in six.Now, the keys felt too small in his calloused hand as he stood on the sagging porch of the family home, the wind whispering through the gum trees that lined the driveway like silent sentinels. The two-hectare property stretched behind the house in every direction—wild with tangled brush, dry yellow grass, and the remnants of childhood summers now long faded.It looked exactly how he remembered it—and nothing like it at all.Behind him, the kids burst out of the old station wagon like a cork from a shaken bottle. Caleb immediately took off running, Camden hot on his heels, both boys whooping like banshees. Mia stepped out slower, arms folded, eyes taking in the peeling paint on the shutters and the overgrown garden with the weary judgment of a teenager in mourning.“This is it?” she asked, her voice low but sharp.Ezra gave her a sidelong glance. “This is it

Wesmere had its own kind of morning: blue-skied, bird-laced, and deceptively quiet—until a six-year-old screamed bloody murder because he didn’t want oatmeal.Ezra wiped sweat off his brow and surveyed the field behind the house, where overgrown grass had once reached his knees. He’d spent the better part of the morning with a trimmer in hand, carving paths through the wild green like he was taming a jungle. It was humid—thick air clinging to his skin, shirt damp and sticking to his back—and his arms ached from the effort. But it was good work. Real. Tangible.Beneath the tang of sweat and soil, the scent of wood shavings and crushed grass clung to him—sharp and grounding. His own scent, laced with something deeper—alpha spice and warm sandalwood—drifted faintly in the thick morning air. It reminded him he was still here. Still standing.From the coop, now standing sturdier than it had in years, to the porch he’d pressure-washed yesterday, the land was beginning to show signs of li

It had been two weeks since Sebastian moved in, and the house had started to feel less like a forgotten relic and more like a place where life was beginning again.The children had adjusted quickly, their laughter echoing through the home that once stood silent.Toys littered the hallways, mismatched socks piled up near the staircase, and someone was always leaving the back door open, letting in the scent of grass, soil, and occasionally the drifting tang of Ezra’s Alpha pheromones after a long day.It was chaotic and imperfect—but it felt alive.Sebastian had slipped into their routine so easily that Ezra sometimes forgot how recent his arrival was. He was always where the children needed him, always calm and kind. It was a skill, really—the way Sebastian moved like he belonged there. His Omega scent—lavender with something faintly sweet underneath—hung faintly in the linens now, in the corners of the home. He knew when Mia needed a moment alone, when the twins needed distraction.

The morning began with cereal on the floor and Camden loudly declaring that socks were “optional.” Caleb disagreed—equally loudly—his little voice cracking in offense, already running hot with dominance despite barely clearing the breakfast table.Ezra, an Alpha to his core and already halfway into his boots, barked from the hallway with a slice of half-toasted bread clenched between his teeth. “Get in the car in thirty seconds or we’re homeschooling.”The weight of his command pressed against the walls like a thunderclap, and even the twins, both budding Alphas themselves, paused.Mia rolled her eyes but moved fast anyway. Her hair was brushed and sleek, her scent muted with a slick of citrus-dampening balm behind her ears—her way of keeping the schoolboys off her back.“He’s bluffing,” she muttered, shouldering her bag and ducking under the sway of Ezra’s scent—sandalwood and cracked pepper, sharp with morning irritation.At the stove, Sebastian stood barefoot in pajama pants and a