Page 48

Our new life.

When Emma Rose Maddox-West-Thornton finally made her appearance, screaming her displeasure at the cold, bright world outside the womb, I understood for the first time what people meant when they talked about love at first sight.

She was perfect. Tiny and red and furious, with a full head of dark hair and the kind of lungs that suggested she'd inherited Charlie's opinions about everything.

When the nurse placed her on my chest, still connected to me by the cord that had sustained her for nine months, I felt something click into place in my heart.

Complete. We were complete.

"She's beautiful," Jonah whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he gently touched her tiny fist.

"She's perfect," Reed added, his usual confidence replaced by the stunned reverence that came with witnessing miracles.

"She's ours," Micah said simply, and that word, ours, contained everything that mattered.

Charlie arrived at the hospital two hours later, having been brought by Aunt Emma as soon as we called with the news. She approached the bed with the careful steps of someone who understood she was about to meet the next important person in her expanding world.

"She's so small," Charlie whispered, her eyes wide with wonder as she studied her new sister. "Can I hold her?"

"Of course you can," I said, helping Charlie settle into the chair beside my bed before carefully transferring Emma into her arms. "You're her big sister. She's been waiting to meet you."

Watching Charlie hold Emma with the careful attention of someone who took her responsibilities seriously, I felt the last piece of my heart slide into place.

This was my family. All of it. The three alphas who'd claimed me, the nine-year-old who'd adopted me, and the newborn who'd complete our pack.

Two years later.

The sound of Emma's laughter mixed with Charlie's voice reading a story echoed through our house as I put the finishing touches on my latest painting, a commission for the state arts council that would hang in their main office in Portland.

The irony wasn't lost on me that the scared woman who'd fled Chicago three years ago was now creating art for government buildings.

How far we'd all come.

"Mama!" Emma's voice called from the living room, followed by the sound of toddler feet running across hardwood floors. At eighteen months, she was mobile, opinionated, and completely convinced that the world existed for her entertainment.

She wasn't wrong.

Emma appeared in my studio doorway, her dark curls escaping from the pigtails Charlie had carefully arranged that morning and her face bright with the kind of joy that only came from being absolutely secure in your place in the world.

"Up!" she demanded, raising her arms with the confidence of someone who'd never been refused comfort.

I set down my brush and scooped her into my arms, breathing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo and the unique fragrance that marked her as ours.

Emma had inherited physical traits from all three of her fathers, Jonah's steady presence, Reed's mischievous smile, Micah's gentle nature, but her scent was purely pack, purely family.

Purely home.

"What are you and Charlie doing?" I asked, settling Emma on my hip as we walked toward the living room.

"Reading ‘bout dinosaurs," Emma said seriously, as if this was the most important activity in the world.

Which, in our house, it probably was.

Charlie looked up from her book as we entered, her face lighting up with the kind of smile that had been healing broken hearts in our family for years. At eleven now, she was growing into the confident, creative, endlessly curious person we'd always known she could become.

"Emma wants to hear about the triceratops again," Charlie reported. "I think she's going to be a paleontologist when she grows up."

"Good career choice," Reed said, appearing from the kitchen with what appeared to be the components of dinner prep. "Steady work, and you get to dig things up."

"Where are Jonah and Micah?" I asked, noting the unusual quiet that meant at least one alpha was missing from our usual afternoon chaos.

"Dad's at a job site, finishing up some emergency repair. Should be home by six," Charlie said. "And Micah's testing new recipes for the autumn menu. He said something about 'seasonal flavor profiles' and disappeared into experimental baking mode."

This was our life now. Not the dramatic, crisis-driven existence I'd known with Marcus, but the steady rhythm of people who'd chosen each other and built something sustainable together.

Work that mattered, children who were loved, a community that supported us, and love that grew stronger rather than more fragile with time.

Ordinary magic, as I'd once called it.

Extraordinary magic, as it actually was.

That evening, after Emma was asleep and Charlie had finished her homework and we'd all gathered in the living room for our traditional family time, I found myself looking around at the life we'd built and feeling overwhelmed by gratitude.

Jonah was reading construction journals, occasionally sharing interesting details about sustainable building practices.

Reed was sketching plans for a workshop expansion, his focus interrupted every few minutes by suggestions from Charlie about optimal tool organization.

Micah was testing frosting recipes, offering samples to anyone willing to provide feedback.

Just a Tuesday night in our house. Just our family being our family.

"What are you thinking about?" Micah asked, noticing my observation mode.

"This," I said, gesturing around the room. "All of this. How different everything is from what I thought my life would look like."

"Better or worse than you imagined?" Reed asked with a grin that suggested he already knew the answer.

"So much better that I sometimes think I'm going to wake up and discover it was all a dream."

"Not a dream," Jonah said quietly, his blue eyes warm with the steady love that had anchored our family from the beginning. "Just what happens when you're brave enough to choose happiness."

"Are you happy, Kit?" Charlie asked with the directness that had characterized her since she was seven years old and decided I belonged in her family.

I looked around at my pack. At Jonah's quiet strength, Reed's protective mischief, Micah's gentle wisdom, Charlie's bright spirit, and the baby monitor that carried the soft sounds of Emma's peaceful sleep.

It was a question I would never have to think about how to answer. Because I felt it in my heart every day.

I was more than happy. I was home.

"Yes," I said simply. "I'm happy. I'm home. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, with exactly the people I'm supposed to be with."

"Forever?" Charlie asked, because she was still young enough to need that reassurance sometimes.

"Forever," I promised, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

Forever.

Later that night, when the house was quiet and my pack was settled around me in our nest, I lay awake listening to the sounds of our life.

Reed's steady breathing, Micah's soft sighs, Jonah's protective presence, Emma's whispered sleep sounds through the monitor, and the knowledge that Charlie was safe in her room down the hall.

This was what happily ever after looked like.

Not a destination you reached and then stopped growing, but a choice you made every day to build something beautiful with people who chose to build it with you.

Not perfect, but real.

Not easy, but worth it.

Not an ending, but a beginning that kept beginning.

I thought about the woman who'd fled Chicago in terror four years ago, convinced she was broken beyond repair. She couldn't have imagined this life, this love, this family we'd created from hope and patience and the radical decision to trust in something better.

But she'd been brave enough to take the first step.

Everything else had grown from that single act of courage. Leaving what was destroying her and trusting that something better was possible.

Outside our bedroom window, snow was falling on Hollow Haven, covering our town in the peaceful quiet that came with winter nights.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the sound of the volunteer fire department responding to someone's emergency, probably just a power line down or a car in a ditch, the kind of small dramas that reminded you how good it was to live in a place where neighbors took care of each other.

Where community mattered.

Where families like ours could flourish.

This town had given me so much more than I ever could have dreamed of.

It gave me three loving mates, and two wonderful children.

But most of all, it gave me the absolute certainty that what we'd built together was unshakeable.

That our love could create life, withstand crisis, and build a future worth fighting for.

That we were strong enough to last.

In the morning, there would be breakfast to make and children to get ready for school and daycare.

Work to be done and the thousand small tasks that made up a life worth living.

There would be challenges and growth and the beautiful, ordinary magic of people who'd chosen each other continuing to choose each other.

But tonight, there was just this.

Just us.

Just home.

I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the perfect contentment of being exactly where I belonged, surrounded by exactly the people I belonged with, living exactly the life I'd never dared to dream.

This was my ever after.

And it was perfect.

THE END