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“May I take a pic? Just for us, not to share.”

Joss nodded, his heavy lids beginning to close.

I selfied the three of us with the sign, both new dads kissing our son.

He’s so small. My fox was shining through my eyes at our newborn.

That’s how human babies are born. Most babies were small at birth, even elephants, though the word small was relative for them.

“You need to sleep, babe.” The sun was sinking, and I needed to get my family home. Tucking our little boy under one arm, I helped Joss to the car. Thank gods we’d been testing how to set up the infant car seat—a feat that took a lot of practice—so our little one was safe on the drive.

“Where have you been?” Booker was sitting on the front step. “I’ve been calling you. We were supposed to play pickleball.”

“Joss has been busy.”

EPILOGUE

JOSS

“Is it time to go, Papa?” Wayne, our barely three-year-old’s voice, carried through the kitchen, as he came barreling in, holding his little backpack with both hands like it was full of treasures. It wasn’t treasure by most people’s standards, but it was by his.

It had a crumpled drawing the barista at our local coffee shop drew for him on a menu at his request, a single sock he was sure someone was going to need if they stepped in a puddle, and a plastic dinosaur with one leg missing he’d found at the park.

Garner looked up from where he was zipping the main baby bag and smiled. “I’m just about done, buddy. Gotta finish packing your sister’s things, and then we can go.”

His sister Liz was barely a year old and as cute as a bug. I might’ve been biased on that one, though.

Wayne tapped his nose, his face serious. “I’m three. Do I get to be with the big kits?”

He was very proud of being three. It was something he announced anytime he saw an opportunity. It was adorable. Hewould hold up three chubby fingers wherever we went and to everyone he met—the post office, the bakery, to strangers in the elevator. He might not introduce himself by name, but hewouldlet you know how old he was. It was his trademark.

The bag Garner was packing technically had things for both Liz and Wayne, but lately Wayne had insisted he didn’t need a bag anymore because he was, quote, “three now.” That usually lasted until we were halfway to wherever we were going and he realized he wanted a snacky-snack or a drink. We pretended it was for Liz. Sometimes, it was just easier to let a three-year-old win.

“I’ll get Daddy!” he shouted, spinning around to break into giggles as he saw me standing behind him. He’d been so focused on Garner that he hadn’t heard me come in, Liz taking a nap in her wrap.

“Daddy! We’re gonna go Run Night! Run Night!” He absolutely adored den runs.

“Yep, it is,” I said, lifting the deviled eggs container from the counter. I’d spent an hour peeling the eggs and they didn’t look the best, but they were a den favorite, and I had a feeling I was going to be bringing them until I met the goddess.

Wayne darted back to Garner’s side, asking for the fifth time whether the foxes would be running in a circle again. He liked it when they did that—something about the symmetry, or maybe the chaos of it. Who knew what clicked in a toddler brain?

Den Run Night had quickly become one of my favorite parts of den life. Even though I couldn’t shift, I felt like I belonged just as much as those who did. There was something grounding about it, watching everyone come together, letting go of the day’s stress, being a part of the community. And I wasn’t sidelined. Ihelped wrangle the kids while some of the other omegas got the chance to take their fur and let loose.

I was good at that part, the herding of the littles, setting up the food table, making sure we didn’t run out of wipes or apple slices. It made me feel useful. Present. A part of things.

And now, pregnant again—verypregnant—I took a step back. I still helped, but not like I used to. I couldn’t run after toddlers, and waddling was nowhere near as fast, but I could read stories, blow bubbles, and sing songs like a boss.

This pregnancy was different from the last two. With Wayne and Liz, it had been just one baby at a time. This time, we were having a full-on litter. Multiple heartbeats. Multiple kicks. Multiple late-night bathroom runs, and belly size that defied logic.

I looked like a beach ball smuggler. Garner even had to get special shirts made for me. He loved it though, especially the one with four sleeping foxes over the widest part of my belly.

I had no idea how I was going to juggle four infants, a one-and-a-half-year-old, and a three-year-old. That kind of math didn’t add up to “relaxed and chill.” But somehow, it didn’t scare me. Not really. Not with Garner beside me. Not with the den surrounding us.

A woman at the grocery store had looked me up and down the other day, in full on judgy mode. She’d said, “You’re gonna have your hands full.”

And yeah. That was probably true.

But they wouldn’t be as full as my heart.