Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 71

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Chapter 71

Damon pov

My mother arrived a full day earlier than expected, and I met her car at the compound’s edge myself, some instinctive need to see her settled properly before anything else could complicate the transition.

She looked exhausted in a way that went beyond simple travel fatigue-hollowed out, worn thin from days of managing Marissa’s crisis largely alone, cradling Hazel carefully against her chest as she stepped out of the car, the small bundle bundled tight against the morning chill.

“Mom.” I moved toward her immediately, careful of my healing side as I pulled her into a gentle hug, Hazel shifting slightly between us at the contact. “You didn’t have to come today. I thought we said tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t sit in that apartment another night,” she admitted quietly, pulling back to look at me properly, dark circles evident beneath her eyes. “Everything felt too big to manage alone. I needed to actually be somewhere with support, sooner rather than later.”

I nodded, understanding completely, and helped her gather the rest of her things from the car, leading her toward the guest apartment I’d arranged the day before-spacious, comfortable, close enough to the main pack house to feel connected without being uncomfortably central to everything else still unfolding.

Two nannies were already waiting inside, women Callum had helped vet carefully over the past day, experienced with newborns and willing to provide round-the-clock support so my mother could actually rest between caring for Hazel herself. She looked almost overwhelmed at the sight of them, some old, practiced independence clearly warring with obvious relief at finally having real help.

“You didn’t need to arrange all this,” she said quietly, watching the nannies settle Hazel’s things into the small nursery space set up in the corner of the main room.

“I did,” I said firmly. “You’ve been managing an infant and a genuine mental health crisis essentially alone for days, Mom. You need actual rest, not just a change of location.”

She sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, and I settled beside her, watching her carefully, understanding from her posture, her exhausted, guarded expression, that something more than simple physical tiredness was weighing on her.

“You didn’t really want to come back here,” I said quietly. “Did you.”

She was silent for a long moment, staring at her hands, before finally answering. “No. I filed those separation papers because I finally understood I could actually leave, Damon. Thirty years of believing I couldn’t, and then suddenly I could, and it felt like the first genuinely free decision I’d made in longer than I could remember.” She looked up at me, sadness evident in her tired eyes. “And now I’m back here anyway, because circumstances demanded it, not because I actually chose it freely.”

Something in my chest ached at that, understanding completely the particular grief of being forced back into a place you’d only just managed to escape. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said gently. “None of this is anyone’s fault except your father’s, really, and Marissa’s own choices, and simple bad timing colliding all at once. I’m not upset with you for helping arrange this. I’m just -tired, Damon. Tired of circumstances always seeming to pull me back toward exactly the place I’m trying to leave.”

I reached over, taking her hand gently, understanding the particular exhaustion she was describing more intimately than I might have a year earlier. “This doesn’t have to be permanent. Once Marissa’s stabilized, once Hazel’s a little older, you can genuinely leave again, properly this time. I’ll help make sure of it.”

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“I know.” She squeezed my hand gently, some small, grateful warmth entering her tired expression. “I appreciate that more than you probably realize. Having someone actually thinking about what I need, instead of just what the situation requires.”

We sat to

the s

for a while longer, the nannies moving quietly around the space, settling Hazel down for a nap in sery, and I found myself watching my mother carefully, searching for any sign of how she was cessing everything-not just Marissa’s crisis, not just the practical exhaustion of caring for a but the deeper, more complicated grief of circumstances forcing her back toward exactly the ronment she’d fought so hard to escape.

Has your father made any appearance yet,” she asked eventually, her voice carefully neutral in a way that told me the question carried more weight than its casual delivery suggested.

“No,” I said honestly

hasn’t reached out

Somethi

linge

hows you’re arriving today, I made sure Callum informed him. But he hasn’t come by,

ched crossed her face at that-relief, maybe, mixed with something that might have been old, The continued distance, however much she might have genuinely wanted it.

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