Chapter 23 Recovery
Dr. Chen continues the ultrasound, taking more measurements, more images. And with each passing moment, I become more certain that my daughter is different. Extraordinary in ways I don't fully understand.
Finally, he turns off the machine and cleans the gel from my stomach.
"I want to monitor her closely over the next few weeks," he says. "Daily ultrasounds if possible. We need to understand what we're dealing with here."
"Will she be okay?" It's the only question that matters.
"I believe so. Her vitality is remarkable. Stronger than any newborn I've ever delivered." Dr. Chen meets my eyes. "But Sage, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that your daughter won't be like other children. That she may have abilities, needs, challenges that we can't predict."
I place my hand over my stomach, feeling the warmth beneath my palm.
"I don't care," I say firmly. "Different or not, special or not, she's mine. And I'll love her no matter what."
Dr. Chen smiles. "That's exactly what she needs to hear."
After he leaves, I lie in the quiet hospital room, processing everything.
I have a daughter who defies medical explanation. Who survived trauma that should have killed her. Who's showing supernatural traits before she's even born.
And somewhere out there, her father has no idea she exists.
The monitor continues its steady beeping, and I find myself mesmerized by the rhythm. By the impossible strength of that tiny heartbeat.
"What are you, little one?" I whisper. "What makes you so special?"
The answer, of course, is silence.
But as I drift toward sleep, exhausted by the day's revelations, I swear I feel something. A flutter. Movement from inside.
My daughter, responding to my voice.
Telling me, in her own way, that she's here. She's real. She's fighting.
And together, we're going to survive this.
No matter what it takes.
The days blur together in the hospital.
Morning brings the soft shuffle of nurses checking vitals, adjusting IVs, asking the same questions in gentle voices. How's your pain? Can you eat something? Are you sleeping?
I answer on autopilot. Fine. A little. Not really.
The truth is more complicated. The physical pain is manageable—modern medicine sees to that. But the emotional pain? The grief that sits like a stone in my chest? There's no medication for that.
Dr. Chen visits twice daily, monitoring both me and my daughter with the dedication of someone who's genuinely invested in our survival. Each ultrasound shows her growing stronger, developing faster than any normal pregnancy. By the end of week one, she's measuring nearly two weeks ahead. By the end of week two, almost three.
"Accelerated development is common in shifter pregnancies," Dr. Chen explains during one of his visits, studying the latest images with fascination. "But this is extraordinary even by those standards. At this rate, you'll deliver at seven months instead of nine."
Seven months. Which means I have less time to prepare than I thought. Less time to figure out how to survive as a rogue with a newborn.
The thought terrifies me.
On day three, a hospital social worker named Patricia visits. She's kind but direct, asking questions about my support system, my financial situation, my plans for after discharge.
I lie about most of it. Tell her I have family in Vancouver who'll help. That I have savings. That everything will be fine.
She doesn't believe me—I can see it in her eyes—but she doesn't push. Just leaves me pamphlets about resources for young mothers, shelters if I need them, government assistance programs.
I shove them in the drawer of my bedside table and try not to think about how close I am to needing them.
Damon's money sits in my hospital safe, untouched. Five thousand dollars feels like a fortune and nothing at all. Enough to survive for a few months if I'm careful. Not nearly enough to build the kind of stable life my daughter deserves.
On day five, I finally gather the courage to set up the email account Damon mentioned.
The hospital has WiFi, and I use my phone—miraculously still in my backpack when David and Rachel found me—to create the account. The password comes easily: JaneEyre. The book I'd been reading that day six years ago when Damon and I first shifted together, our wolves running through White Moon territory like we owned the world.
We'd been so young then. So naive. Believing we'd always be pack, always be family.
There's already an email waiting when I log in.
'Sage,
If you're reading this, you made it. Thank God.
I don't know where you are or what you're planning, but I need you to know some things.
First: Mason is telling everyone you attacked Stella out of jealousy and fled when you realized you'd be punished. Most of the pack believes him. I've tried to counter the narrative, but without proof, my word as Beta doesn't carry enough weight against an Alpha's testimony.
Second: Stella is pregnant. She announced it three days after you left. Mason is over the moon, convinced this proves they're true mates. I have my doubts, but that's not something I can voice publicly.
Third: I've been quietly investigating what really happened that night. The wounds on Stella's arms? They're defensive marks, not offensive. Like she was blocking something, not being attacked. And the timeline doesn't add up—the pack doctor confirms her injuries occurred at least thirty minutes before she claims you "attacked" her. I'm gathering evidence, but it's slow going. I don't know why she must have done that but I believe she might have discovered you were pregnant.
Anyways Sage, please know that you're not alone in this. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'm here.
Stay safe. Stay strong. And write back when you can.
Always,
Damon.'
I read the email three times, tears streaming down my face.
He figured it out. Damon is so smart, how he is able to put the dots together. He knows about the pregnancy, and he's still standing by me. Still trying to clear my name even when it puts his own position at risk.
And Stella is pregnant too. Of course she is. Probably planned the timing perfectly to coincide with my banishment, cementing her position as Luna and mother of the future Alpha's children.
Except she's not the only one carrying Mason's child.
The irony is almost funny. Almost.
I start typing a response, then delete it. Start again. Delete again. What do I say? How do I explain the inexplicable?
Finally, I settle on simple honesty.
'Damon,
I'm alive. That's about all I can say for certain right now.
I can't tell you where I am. It's safer for both of us if you don't know. But I'm getting good care, and the baby... the babies... it's complicated.
I was carrying twins. I lost one. A boy. The other, a girl, survived against all odds. The doctors say her strength is unprecedented. That she shouldn't be alive but is anyway.
I don't know what that means. Don't know what kind of child I'm bringing into this world. But I know I'm going to love her fiercely and protect her with everything I have.
Thank you for the money. For the support. For believing me when no one else did. You're the best friend I could ever ask for, and I don't deserve you.
Don't put yourself at risk for me. Don't antagonize Mason or Stella. Just... survive. Thrive. Live the life you deserve as Beta.
I'll write when I can. Stay safe.
Sage.'
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
The response comes within an hour.
'Sage,
'Twins!! Yeshua!!!. I'm so sorry you lost your son. And so grateful your daughter survived.'
You say her strength is unprecedented. That tracks with what I know about Alpha bloodlines. Mason's family has always produced exceptionally powerful wolves. If your daughter inherited that strength...
Be careful, Sage. A child that powerful will draw attention. From our pack and others. There are wolves who would kill for the chance to raise an Alpha's daughter as their own.
I know you can't tell me where you are. I understand. But please, promise me you'll reach out if you need help. Anything at all.
And Sage? You deserve everything good in this world. Don't let anyone—including yourself—convince you otherwise.
D.'
I close the email and set my phone aside, exhausted by the exchange.
Damon's warning echoes in my mind. Wolves who would kill for the chance to raise Mason's daughter. I hadn't thought about that. Hadn't considered that my daughter's lineage might make her a target.
Another thing to worry about. Another threat to protect her from.