The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate (Jason and Laila) by Caroline Above Story novel Chapter 18

The medical notes painted a picture of a nightmare pregnancy and traumatic delivery. Premature labor brought on by stress and malnutrition. Complications that had put both mother and child at serious risk.

She'd almost died bringing my child into the world.

My stomach twisted, knife turning deeper with every line.

The nurse's notes were worse: malnourished, exhausted, chronic stress written into every part of her body. No family. No support. Told to follow up, but she couldn't afford it.

How had she gone from taking fifty thousand dollars to living in conditions bad enough to threaten her pregnancy?

I flipped through bank records Marcus had somehow obtained. The withdrawal Brittany had told me about was there, clear as day. Fifty thousand dollars, withdrawn the day after Laila had disappeared from the pack.

But the account statements that followed told a completely different story.

Rent payments for a shoebox apartment in a dangerous neighborhood. Medical payments to the low-income clinic. Grocery store purchases that looked more like desperate survival than comfortable living.

Six months, and the money was gone. After that, there were employment records for minimum wage jobs. Cleaning offices. Slinging coffee at a diner. Pregnant and working herself half to death just to keep food on the table.

Where the hell was the gold-digger Brittany described? Because this wasn't it. This was a woman fighting to survive.

My phone buzzed. Marcus. Text from Marcus: " Additional medical records. Delivery."

I opened the attachment, and regretted it instantly.

Emergency cesarean. Hemorrhage. She nearly bled out. The baby was barely breathing, both of them dangling on the edge between life and death.

And she was alone. No one holding her hand. No one telling her she'd make it. She faced the terror of that operating table abandoned. Because of me. Because I was too blind, too damn proud to see through Brittany's lies.

The guilt was suffocating.

And then—the baby. My baby. Severe prematurity. Underweight. Heart murmur flagged from birth. Needed specialists Laila couldn't afford. Discharged with follow-up orders that probably never happened.

Because how could they? Minimum wage doesn't cover survival and a growing mountain of medical bills.

I poured another drink. Stared at the glass like it might have answers.

This wasn't a gold-digger. This was a terrified kid raising a baby in a world stacked against her.

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