Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 28

Chapter 28

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Chapter 28

Damon pov

I don’t think I breathed for the first several seconds after I heard her cry.

I’d witnessed birth before-pack life didn’t shelter you from much, and I’d stood nearby during a handful of deliveries over the years, dutiful and detached the way an alpha-in-training was expected to be. Nothing about those experiences had prepared me for this. For the way my whole chest seemed to crack open at the sound of my own daughter’s first furious wail, for the way my knees actually went weak enough that I had to brace a hand against the wall to keep myself upright.

*My pup.*

The words settled into me with a weight I hadn’t fully anticipated, standing there in the corner of that hospital room, watching Evelyn cradle something so small and impossibly real against her chest. Eight months of / searching, of dead ends and desperate texts and slow, grinding guilt, and here she was-finally, actually here, breathing and crying and alive in a world I’d nearly failed to be part of.

I wanted to cry. I hadn’t cried since I was a boy, had trained myself out of it somewhere in my early teenage years under my father’s watchful, disapproving eye, but standing in that corner watching Evelyn hold our daughter, I felt tears slip free before I could stop them, and for once I didn’t care enough to hide it.

*I messed up so badly.* The thought arrived with brutal clarity, watching Evelyn’s face soften as she looked down at our daughter, watching the exhausted, overwhelmed love written so plainly across her features. I’d nearly missed this entirely. I’d nearly spent the rest of my life as a stranger to my own child, all because I hadn’t been able to control myself for a handful of weeks eight months ago.

When she finally said I could hold her-after what felt like the longest few minutes of my life, standing frozen in that corner, terrified she’d say no-I crossed the room slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the fragile permission she’d granted me.

Evelyn passed her into my arms with visible hesitation, and I understood it completely, understood that this wasn’t forgiveness, wasn’t an invitation back into her life, just a mother allowing a father to meet his child for the first time despite everything standing between them.

I looked down at her small, scrunched face, at the dark tuft of hair already visible against her head, and felt something in my chest settle into place that I didn’t think would ever fully unsettle again.

“She’s perfect,” I whispered, my voice cracking badly on the words. “Evelyn, she’s-I don’t have words for what she is.”

Evelyn watched me from the bed, exhaustion evident in every line of her face, but something in her expression had shifted slightly, some of the guardedness easing just a fraction as she watched me hold our daughter for the first time.

“What’s her name,” I asked quietly, aware I’d forfeited the right to help choose it months ago, aware that whatever name Evelyn had settled on during these months alone was hers to give, not mine.

“Willow,” she said, after a moment. “I’ve been calling her Willow since I felt her first kick.”

“Willow,” I repeated, testing the name against the small, warm weight in my arms, watching her tiny fingers curl instinctively around my own. “It suits her.”

I stood there a long moment, just looking at her, before I forced myself to meet Evelyn’s eyes again, understanding that I owed her more than silent gratitude in this moment. I owed her the truth-all of it,

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Chapter 25

+15 Bgnus

everything that had happened since she left, laid out plainly instead of filtered through whatever careful excuses! might have once reached for.

“There’s things you should know,” I said quietly, settling carefully into the chair beside her bed, still holding Willow against my chest. “About what’s happened since you left.”

Evelyn’s expression tightened slightly, bracing herself, and I understood that instinct too-eight months of silence from me, and now here I was, showing up in the middle of her most vulnerable moment with more to

unload on her.

“Marissa’s pregnant,” I said first, watching her face carefully for a reaction. Something flickered there-not quite surprise, which told me word had somehow already reached her, some network I hadn’t managed to trace back yet.

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