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But it’s not them.

It’s a delivery driver.

He holds out a package, scanning my face with mild interest. “Miss Eviana Quade?”

I hesitate. No one calls me that. No one knows to call me that.

Except—

I swallow, nodding as I take the package. The driver gives a polite smile, then turns back toward his van, already moving on to the next stop.

I stare down at the box, my stomach tightening. It’s bigger than I expected, but not heavy. No return label.

I bring it inside, setting it down on the kitchen table. I tell myself not to be hopeful. Not to want this to be from them.

But my hands shake as I open it.

The first thing I see is a folded note, resting on top of something soft and pale.

My breath catches.

I pull out the note first, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfold it.

Evie,

We’re sorry. We won’t come back today. We want to give you a little space, but that doesn’t mean we’re not thinking about you.

We saw this and thought of you. Hope you like it.

If you ever need anything, reach out. Anytime.

Take care,

X, D, B

I read the words three times over, noting their individual mobile numbers added on the end, my chest tightening more with each pass.

They thought of me.

They wanted to come back.

And they gave me their numbers.

I set the note aside, swallowing against the lump forming in my throat. Then I reach into the box and pull out the blanket.

It’s beautiful.

The softest thing I’ve ever touched. Pale pink, the kind of shade that isn’t childish but delicate, warm, safe. It spills over my lap, huge and impossibly plush, and like it was made just for me.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

I press my face into the fabric, inhaling deep, even though I know it won’t carry their scent. It’s brand new, untouched. But my omega doesn’t care. She curls around the gift, purring with pleasure, soothed in a way I don’t understand.

They did this for us.

Not because they had to. Not because they expect anything in return.

Just because they thought of me.