I t’s time to let go.

Not only are we selling our current cabin that originally belonged to Noah, but we’re also letting go of my parents’ old cottage, all for the sake of starting our baby’s life in a brand-new home, organized specifically for our growing family.

That, and I’ve avoided digging up the past for far too long now. The cottage is cozy and sweet—far too lovely to sit here, empty. Guilt pangs at my heart every time I think of it.

It’s finally time to let a new family create loving memories there—and for me to let go of the ones Steven created that tainted my beautiful childhood home. I’m bringing with me the memories that really matter in my parents’ keepsakes.

I weep over box after box of my parents’ things, go rigid with disgust at the flashbacks crossing my mind as I pack my room, and sigh in relief when Noah hires someone to safely transport my mom’s favorite rose bush for me.

Just before we drive away, an Omega just as pregnant as I am pulls up behind us, her legs straining to hoist herself out of the car. Two little Lycans hop out after her, climbing up the porch, cheering, “Mom, Mom! Look! It’s blue!”

As the exhausted Omega mother caresses the soft blue paint we refinished, her relieved smile heals a piece of me I didn’t know was still so raw.

No matter what I tell myself as we back out of the driveway, I’m still hit with a stinging fear that I’ve made a drastic mistake. What if I failed somehow in treatment, and I should just suck it up and live with the memories in that cottage?

But as Noah and I pull up to our new home, it’s all worth it.

Tall, protective evergreens coat every corner of our new plot of land, the remaining space blanketed with a rolling clover field and an empty garden for me to fill. The house is earthy and gorgeous, its stained wood warming the gray skies above the towering trees. We have a cute white porch, and dirt beds big enough to fit not only Mom’s favorite rose but dozens of my own new plants and trees. There’s even a perfect tree for a swing, once Little Wolf gets older.

We’re moved in within a mere two hours, every friend and friend of a friend pitching in to help out—and banning me from doing anything but resting on our new porch’s rocking chair.

Grateful doesn’t begin to describe how I feel for all of it: the house, the support, and the love that brought us here.

I can’t pretend my heart doesn’t still sting, letting go of that old cottage.

In my heart, I know the logical truth: Dad literally wrote in his will that he wanted the cottage to be an investment for me and his future grandkids, and I should use it or sell it however I please to make ends meet. This is what he and Mom wanted. They’d adore this home Noah and I found, tucked in an even safer Greenfield Forest sanctuary, now that I’m part of Greenfield Pack too.

But the second I find Noah in the empty, extra bedroom of our new home, opening the box to our baby’s new crib, my eyes burn hot. Maybe it should’ve been obvious, but with so many worries consuming my focus, the best part of today hadn’t hit me until now; releasing the cottage also made space for something new. Someone new.

Noah does a double-take, startled by my sudden sniffles. Then he smiles, hopping to his feet to pull me into his arms. “You have to wait to cry until I’m done building it.”

I blubber out a laugh, and Noah chuckles, kissing my head.

“Well, and after we’ve painted the clouds on the ceiling like we talked about, added that squishy rocking chair... Oh, and I can go grab the squishy rug for under our feet as we cradle this one, right here.”

Sweeping his hands down my belly, Noah pulls another giggling sniffle out of me. I nuzzle into him. “I love you. I’m so excited for your baby to arrive.”

“Me too, King Luna. I love you both so much.”

I can’t stop smiling as I work alongside Noah, primping and prepping the nursery as I let my nesting wolf go wild.

Until there’s one more nursery box.

Noah stoops over it, knife at the ready. “Do you want me to help you unpack this one while you rest? You can boss me around—tell me where to put stuff.”

Glancing at the writing in permanent marker on the side of the box, I tighten in dread. But I do my best to give Noah a quick smile.

“Oh, no thanks. I’ll do it later.”

Noah searches my eyes, but I can’t bear to look at him. I don’t want to cry again. Not now. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get anything else done.

As our bond wobbles with my rising grief, Noah gives me a soft smile. “Okay, sweet Omega. I’m going to see if there’s anything else I can unpack in the kitchen while we wait for our food to be delivered.”

I sigh in relief; Noah leaves the box untouched for me, even though I can feel his heart aching in response to mine. But I’m not ready to face that box yet. I wait until I’m alone—after we’ve said our goodbyes to all our generous friends, started our new dishwasher, and Noah has hopped into the shower.

Padding down the hallway’s hardwood floors in my fluffy socks, I stop in the nursery doorway, patting its unfamiliar wall all over until I can find the lightswitch. A soft lamp flickers to life in the corner, its gentle glow a warm yellow that soothes my tired eyes.

Running my fingertips along the railing of the crib, my stomach fills with butterflies, imagining how soon they’ll be nestled up in here—until Little Wolf stirs. I smile, swirling my fingertips around my belly until they wiggle against my palms, saying hello despite how cramped they’re becoming. Closing my eyes, I rock side to side, simply holding them.

“This is going to be where you’ll sleep,” I whisper. “Your dad will probably love snuggling you, though, so you might not sleep in here too often.”

Little Wolf settles beneath my hands, and I sigh, gripping my aching back. Without daring to bend over, I scoot the last box with my foot. Shoving it over toward the mint green, plushy rocking chair in the corner, I grip my belly, easing myself into the cozy new chair with a slow exhale.

But as I pry open the box at my feet, my heart hammers wildly.

Mom’s keepsakes: for baby Aliya

It’s written on the side.

In her handwriting.

A hard lump forms at the base of my throat as I lift each flap of the box, afraid to disturb its contents.

But my breath catches when I find what’s draped on top: a squishy, quilted baby blanket rests above a stack of photos, baby shoes, and more, all of which once belonged to me.

A piercing shard of grief wracks my chest as I stroke the fuzzy fabric. I forgot this blanket was patterned with baby forest animals.

Then I see it: a little, gray wolf, frolicking in the center square with a butterfly perched on their nose.

Tears drip onto the blanket, a desperate, hitching exhale escaping my lips. I clutch the quilt, bringing it to my chest.

It’s like she left it here for you, Little Wolf, I mindlink.

My heart pounds faster as I hug the soft, silky blanket, draping the bottom half over my belly to hug it around our baby.

Looking around the room, I let out an aching breath; I wish I could share this moment with my mom. I wish she could meet Noah, see the new house, and hold my newborn with me when they arrive. I wish Dad could take them outside, teaching them all about the forest and bugs like he taught Noah and me without either of us knowing each other.

But as I hold the blanket tight to my chest, my forehead warps through a pained smile. It’s like she did it on purpose—as if she knew to wrap up this box as a perfect gift for me and this baby, mailing it to our new home at this exact moment in the future.

Hoisting myself to my feet, I drape the blanket over the crib, then take a few steps back. I laugh despite my sore heart, shaking my head; even the colors of my baby blanket match Little Wolf’s room, soft blues, greens, yellows, and pinks of the forest reflected in the mural we half finished on the walls before today’s official move.

“Thank you, Mom,” I whisper, my lip wobbling through a smile.

I stare in awe as I search the rest of the box, finding a perfect picture of my parents and me to hang up in Little Wolf’s room to see who their grandparents were. Setting the photo on the white wooden dresser, I grip my panging heart, imagining Noah and me propping Little Wolf up on our hips to get a better view, telling them everything we can remember about Grandma An and Grandpa Takahiro.

But then I freeze. Something about this photo looks familiar—and not just that I recognize it from my mom’s shelf, growing up. The second I remember what I found buried in Noah’s hall closet while packing, my eyes widen.

Scurrying down the hall, I know exactly which half-unpacked box to seek out: the one with Noah’s favorite baby picture of him and Rainn, and the only photo he had of his whole family of four. I cup the frames in my hands, my grin widening at Noah’s precious squishy face in the family photo, his mouth wide in what must’ve been screeching laughter from Ritchie lifting him high in the air. To their right, Lilian snuggles a newborn Rainn to her chest, smiling up to her eyes like Noah does at his happiest. And as Noah cups baby Rainn in his lap in the second photo, his little toddler hands awkward and stiff from how cautiously he holds her tiny body, I groan; he looks so amazed by her, his face lit up so brightly that I can’t stand how cute it is. He held the purest love for his baby sister, even then, knowing she’d be his buddy for life.

I’m so screwed. There’s no way in hell we’re waiting long to give Little Wolf a baby sibling to grow up with—not after seeing this.

Giggling, I speed-walk back to the nursery, gripping our baby as they push against me in shared excitement.

Once I have the photos propped on the dresser, adding a few of Mom’s knickknacks she kept from when I was a baby, I step back, my fingertips plastered over my growing smile.

It’s perfect. It’s like Mom decorated it with me.

I can’t wait to show Noah. To fantasize with him about what Little Wolf will think someday as they discover more and more about the world.

But then another idea strikes.

As I rummage through the kitchen, Noah stops in the hallway in nothing but boxers, his hair still dripping around a rising, mischievous grin.

“I guess I shouldn’t have been waiting in bed. Are we nesting at 12:30 a.m.? And recently crying?”

I sputter out a laugh, covering what must be my bright red nose. “Yes, and yes. Can you help me find some paper? I have to write Little Wolf an important letter.”

Noah perks up, his eyes brightening to match mine. Without asking a single question more, he rummages through our things with me until we gather paper and pens, reconvening at the kitchen table.

Noah clicks his pen rapidly, his nocturnal eyes glimmering in the dim light from down the hall. “So, what are we writing?”

A gushing smile spills over my cheeks, my shoulders lifting in delight. As I tell Noah the story about Mom’s box, his features melt into absolute warmth, grief, and excitement with me.

But the second I finish telling him what we’ll be writing down in honor of Mom’s gift, Noah stoops over his paper, beginning his letter.

I do too. I jot down all my thoughts about Little Wolf’s upcoming arrival, my fingers shaking as I pour my heart out over every joyous, fearful, and adoring thought I have about meeting them.

But most of all, I tell them about the depths of our love for them. About how their dad inspires me to feel more of it, every second, with how much he loves us both—even without having met them.

By the time we finish, Noah and I grip our hands tight over the kitchen table. As we meet eyes, only to find each other brimming with giddy smiles, we giggle at the same time.

Noah gives my hand a soft squeeze. “Aliya, can I tell you something before we put these away?”

I freeze. “Oh, of course.”

Worry strikes my chest as Noah grows quiet. But as I straighten, Noah breaks into a hyper smile, vibrating in his chair.

I sputter out a laugh, gripping his arm. “Noah, what? What is it?”

He chuckles, scooting his chair closer. “We wanted to pick a name that they would still like, no matter who they turn out to be, right?”

“Right.” My voice comes out as more of a breath, my chest too stuffed with excitement. “You thought of something you liked?”

Noah bites his lip. When he nods, I break into a wide smile with him, playfully shaking his arm.

“Then tell me already, goofy Alpha! I can’t stand it!”

Noah giggles. “I will, I’m just nervous. I don’t know why. I can just picture them here so clearly, all of a sudden.”

I clasp his hands. “Me too, oddly enough. I was so afraid to let go of that cottage, but I feel like moving our little family here made things fall into place.”

Grinning even wider, Noah’s eyes flit between mine.

“Ari,” he whispers.

I suck in a tight breath, unable to blink. “Ari...”

My heart leaps. As I picture Little Wolf dashing around this kitchen, forcing us to scramble after them with laughter, I can’t help but smile with Noah, loving the thought of that name echoing through our new home.

As our focus turns to my belly, Little Wolf stretches right in time—likely responding to my pounding heart. Noah shakes his head, beaming at me. “You’re so beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re doing this for us.”

“We’re doing it together.” Drawing Noah in for a kiss, I press his hands tight over our pup. “Soon, we’ll be holding them together too. Holding—”

My heart flips as a rush of shyness strikes me to the core.

But as Noah’s soft smile stretches up to his eyes, I can’t help but smile with him, allowing my voice to shake.

“Holding Ari,” I whisper. “How does it sound?”

Noah’s voice comes out fragile. “Our Ari. God, Aliya, I—”

As my mate breaks into wobbly tears, we sputter into wet laughter together. Handing us both tissues, I stroke Noah’s hand over my belly until he’s calm enough to speak.

Cerulean, overjoyed eyes stare back. Noah whispers, “If you love it, I love it. And I love Ari so much already.”

At the sound of Little Wolf’s new name on Noah’s lips, I tremble with excitement.

I stroke Noah’s cheek. “I love it, Noah.”

As if they agree with us, Ari brightens our smiles as they wiggle against our palms.

We giggle, drawing closer.

“And I love Ari too,” I whisper. “You’ve both stolen my heart.”

We tuck our letters away, storing them in a small box for Ari to open in the future—whenever they’re ready. Alongside our letters, we add keepsakes from each of us: photos of our dads, my mom, our best friends, and the picture of us at the airport before we left for Sweden—with Ari in the picture too as they form my first tiny baby bump.

As Noah and I tuck the box away safely at the bottom of Ari’s baby dresser drawers, we stop in the middle of the nursery, just holding each other. Knowing that no matter what happens to any of us in the future, at least our Ari will have a collection of our love that reaches forward in time too.