Page 66 of Omega's Faith

"Love always is."

"I don't love him."

Robert raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"No. How could I? We barely know each other. That's not love."

"Then why do you look like someone died?"

Because something did die. The future I imagined, the family I wanted. All dead now.

"You know Pastor David wants you to go back to him," Robert says quietly. "Says it's your duty as an omega."

"I know."

"Mom and Dad agree. They think... they think this is just a break. That you need to go back."

"I know."

"Dad's been pretty clear about it."

I remember dinner last night. Every time I'd started to speak about Alex, about the separation, Dad had said my name in that same firm tone he'd used whenever I spoke out of place.

Just my name: ‘Jonah.’ A gentle reprimand and a reminder of my place. An omega doesn't leave their alpha. An omega doesn't complain about their alpha. An omega submits. An omega doesn’t leave their alpha just because it got difficult.

I think about Alex's face when I mentioned children. The pure terror in his eyes. Then later, drunk and bitter: *Tell me how to want children I'll definitely fuck up.*

“I can’t go back. He’s going to make me miserable. He doesn’t want children. He mocks my faith. He’s rude and messed up.”

"Sounds like you understand him pretty well for someone you don't love."

I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, grinning.

"Eat your soup," he says, standing. "And Jonah? Whatever you decide about the marriage, I’m here. The family, I mean. Nomatter what Pastor David says, no matter what the fellowship thinks. I’m your family too."

After he leaves, I manage a few spoonfuls of soup. It stays down, which is more than I can say for anything else lately. The crackers are harder—too dry, too much like cardboard—but the ginger ale helps.

Outside, I can hear voices. The photographers are changing shifts, probably. They work in teams now, making sure someone's always watching in case one of us tries to leave.

Yesterday they followed Mom to the grocery store. She came back shaking, saying they'd shouted questions at her the whole time, asking if she was disappointed in me, if she blamed Alex, if the family was planning to sue.

The phone rings again. This time I answer on the first ring, not wanting Mom to have to deal with it.

"Wells residence."

"Is this Jonah?" The voice is unfamiliar, female, professionally perky.

"Who is this?"

"Stephanie from Celebrity Weekly. We're doing a feature on alpha-omega matches that don't work out and we'd love to get your perspective on—"

I hang up. The phone immediately rings again. I press the answer button then hang up without saying anything.

The sun is setting by the time I finally drag myself out of bed. I find Mom in the living room, knitting.

She looks up when I enter, her face carefully neutral. "Feeling better?"

"A little."