A few months ago, when I was desperately trying to get Leo to talk to me, I bought around ten different SIMs with the idea that I could still keep messaging him once he’d blocked me.

Halvorsen was the one who persuaded me that I’d just make myself look like even more of a stalker, but I still had the SIMs.

Maybe I am a stalker but I did want to check he was okay.

I slipped a paperclip into the side of my phone and replaced the SIM with a new one.

I know Leo’s number off by heart, so I typed it and sent him a simpl.

“Are you alright?”

The message delivered but the second one I sent didn’t. Blocked again. The sting of rejection should cut deeper, but it doesn’t. Leo needs time to process what happened between us. What’s still happening between us.

I can give him time. I should have given him that from the beginning instead of pushing so hard.

My fingers drift to my lips, still feeling the desperate press of his mouth against mine. The way he’d demanded more, taken control even as he surrendered. My cock stirs at the memory, Leo’s breathless moans echoing in my ears.

He’ll come around. He has to.

I gather pack up for the day, feeling completely jubilant, my muscles loose in a way they haven’t been since Leo walked away from that cottage months ago.

The drive home passes in a haze of contentment as I replay every moment of our encounter. The taste of his skin. The perfect arch of his back. The pure need in his eyes.

A flash of pastel colors catches my attention as I drive: Baby World, the store windows filled with cribs and strollers, tiny clothes in rainbow hues. I’ve driven past it a hundred times without a second glance.

Today, I pull into the parking lot.

The automatic doors whoosh open. Young couples wander the aisles with scanning guns and excited expressions. I navigate past them toward the newborn section.

My child. Leo’s carrying my child. Soon, there will be a baby. Our baby.

I run my fingers along a display of impossibly small sleepers, soft cotton in a range of colors. The sales associate hovers nearby. He’s got that look on his face that indicates that he recognizes me but is pretending he doesn’t. Either way, I suppose he’s curious.

“Can I help you find anything specific?”

he asks, smile professionally bright.

“Just looking,”

I reply, lifting a tiny onesie decorated with dinosaurs. It’s smaller than my hand. How can something so small possibly hold a whole person?

The bigger items—the crib, the changing table, the stroller—those decisions should involve Leo. But these smaller necessities, the day-to-day essentials... I can provide these. I should provide these.

I select carefully: a pack of newborn onesies, soft cotton blankets, diapers in multiple sizes because I have no idea what we’ll need. Bottles and burp cloths that look more like tiny towels. Everything practical, nothing presumptuous.

At checkout, the total makes me blink. How do new parents afford this? Leo certainly can’t.

“Your first?”

the cashier asks, scanning the last item with knowing sympathy.

“Yes.”

The word comes out rougher than intended. My first. Possibly my only, if Leo continues keeping me at arm’s length.

When I get home, I see my apartment through Leo’s eyes. It’s not ready for a baby. I have too much glass, nothing is baby-proofed, but that can be done later.

The problem is that is isn’t ready for a pregnant omega either.

I’m not stupid. I know Leo is going to keep fighting me. He’s going to keep saying no, but the last thing I want is for him to say yes and I’m not ready.

It gives me something to do so I’m not going crazy over him.

This is more important than work. It’s sure as hell more important than Jones. I call into the Dean’s office at the university, telling them that I’m going to take a personal day tomorrow.

I wake up with the sun in the morning, shower and have a coffee, then I roll up my sleeves and get to work clearing out the room. I’ve used it as a store room since I first moved here so it takes some time.

There are academic journals stacked on every surface. Books I’ve been meaning to shelve. The treadmill I bought with good intentions and used exactly twice. Boxes of conference materials I’ll never look at again.

The day passes in a blur of productive energy. Books sorted and boxed for donation. The treadmill disassembled and listed on eBay within minutes—apparently unused exercise equipment sells quickly. I vacuum behind furniture that hasn’t been moved in years.

By early evening, the room looks completely different. Clean walls, polished hardwood floors, afternoon sunlight streaming through windows no longer blocked by towering book stacks. I arrange the baby items on the built-in shelves.

The spare bed is made and ready for him.

Perfect. Simple. Ready.

I make coffee and settle into my leather armchair, muscles pleasantly tired from the physical work. For the first time in months, my apartment feels like a home rather than just a place to sleep between obligations. A place Leo might actually want to stay.

My phone buzzes against the coffee table. Halvorsen’s name flashes on the screen.

“Ben.”

I settle back.

“.”

His voice carries an odd tension that makes me straighten.

“I just heard something you need to know. Leo’s building—the squat he’s been living in—they evicted everyone today. Police are there now.”

“What?”

The word comes out strangled. “When?”

“This afternoon. Court order came through faster than expected.”

Halvorsen’s voice gentles with sympathy.

“I thought you should know.”

I don’t hesitate.

“Do you know where he is?”

I’m already moving, grabbing my keys, pulling on my jacket with one hand while clutching the phone with the other.

“No idea. I’m sorry, . I just heard through university channels.”

I’m out the door before Halvorsen finishes speaking, taking the stairs two at a time rather than waiting for the elevator. The drive to Leo’s neighborhood passes in a blur of traffic lights and mounting panic.

Police cars still line the street when I arrive, their flashing lights painting the abandoned building in harsh red and blue. A massive dumpster sits outside, overflowing with detritus. Officers direct the last stragglers away from the cordoned area.

I park haphazardly and approach the chaos, searching desperately for any sign of Leo’s blond hair. Nothing. Just displaced residents clutching salvaged possessions and looking lost.

“Excuse me.”

I stop a young woman carrying a cardboard box, her expression shell-shocked.

“Did you know Leo Torres?”

She shakes her head without stopping, hurrying past like I might be another authority figure ready to make her life worse.

Then I spot her. Meg Deveraux stands near the dumpster with a cluster of other activists. She looks exhausted, but the moment she sees me, her expression hardens into something approaching hatred.

“Hello Thorndick,”

Her voice drips with disdain.

“What do you want?”

“I’m looking for Leo.”

“Of course, you are,”

she replies, then she shakes her head.

“Can’t you just leave him alone? He’s got enough to worry about right now.”

“Don’t tell me the details if you don’t want to. I just want to know he’s safe.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

For the first time, her anger cracks, revealing genuine worry underneath.

“He wouldn’t answer my calls. Probably too ashamed to face any of us after what you made him do.”

“I didn’t make him do anything.”

“Didn’t you?”

She turns her back on me and it’s clear our conversation is over. Leo isn’t here and she doesn’t know where he is. There’s no point getting into an argument with her, but I am starting to worry. He has nowhere to go. Nowhere, except to me. I don’t know if Leo knows where I live but I call my building, telling the doorman to let Leo into my apartment if he arrives and to let me know if he does.

I spend the next two hours driving aimlessly through the city, checking every place Leo might have gone. The university library, closed. The coffee shop he favors near campus, empty. By the time I return home, full darkness has fallen and my panic is starting to rise. I swap out my SIM yet again for one of the new ones and try call him but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi Leo, it’s . You have a place with me if you need one. No strings, I promise. Please just let me know you’re okay.”

Sleep proves impossible. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, every shadow seeming to shift with threatening possibility. Leo is out there somewhere, pregnant and alone.

My omega. My responsibility. And I have no way to find him, no way to help.

By six AM, I abandon any pretense of rest. I shower, get dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and drive straight to the Brennan & Wallace offices. They’re closed when I arrive—too early of course— so I cross the road to the coffee shop across the way and take up a window seat. Leo will have to go to work. I realize I’m in full stalker mode now, but I don’t care. I just want to see him. I tell myself that all I need is to see him. If he arrives fresh and clean and ready to face the work day, I won’t let him know I’ve seen him. I’m just going to know he’s okay and has found a place and I’ll walk away.

By ten, it’s clear that either I’ve missed him going in or he’s not turned up to work today.

Before I can think better of it, I swallow the last of my coffee (my third) and cross the road to the building. The receptionist looks up as I enter.

“I’m here to see Leo Torres,”

I tell her casually.

“We have a meeting scheduled.”

Her expression shifts.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Leo left yesterday. Didn’t he contact you?”

Left. The word echoes in my mind like a death knell.

“Left the firm?”

“Well, his internship ended early. “

She fidgets with her keyboard, clearly uncomfortable in a way that makes me think there something she isn’t saying. “Could I call Eliza Wallace for you? She’ll know what he was working on.”

“No, thank you.”

The careful way the receptionist avoids my eyes tells me everything I need to know about why Leo’s internshi.

“ended early.”

It was the pregnancy. It had to be. I know that pregnant omegas in precarious employment situations aren’t

Because of me.

I drive to the university in a haze of guilt and mounting fury.

Dean Jones’s assistant tries to turn me away—no appointment, the Dean’s very busy—but something in my expression must convince her to make an exception. Within minutes, I’m sitting across from Jones’s gleaming mahogany desk, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour.

“.”

He doesn’t look up from the papers he’s reviewing.

“This is unexpected.”

“I need Leo Torres’s contact information.”

No preamble, no pleasantries. I’m done with politeness.

His pen stills.

“Mr. Torres requested a sabbatical this morning. Very sudden. I don’t intend to grant it.”

“What?”

The word explodes from me with more force than intended.

“A sabbatical request, submitted via email at 3 AM.”

Jones finally looks up, his expression smugly satisfied.

“Of course, given his... circumstances... I think it would be better for everyone if he simply withdrew from the program entirely.”

His circumstances. His pregnancy.

“You can’t force a student to withdraw because he’s pregnant.”

My voice is deadly quiet.

“I’m not forcing anything.”

Jones leans back in his leather chair.

“I’m simply exercising our discretion about sabbatical requests. Mr. Torres is free to reapply next year.”

Red edges creep into my vision. This man, this bureaucratic parasite, is using his petty authority to punish Leo.

“Give me his contact information.”

I lean forward, letting every ounce of alpha authority I possess color my voice. “Now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Jones’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Student privacy, you understand.”

Something snaps.

“Then you have my resignation as well.”

I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against polished floors.

“Effective immediately.”

Jones’s composure finally cracks.

“, don’t be hasty.”

I turn toward the door, done with this conversation, done with this place.

“Find someone else to be your controversial faculty member. I quit.”

The door slams behind me, but the victory feels hollow. I’ve burned yet another professional bridge because of Leo. And I don’t care. He is still missing.

My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: This is Leo’s mother. He’s safe. He’s with me.

Relief hits so hard I have to lean against my car to stay upright. Safe. He’s safe.

I type back immediately: Thank you for letting me know. Is he okay? Does he need anything?

The response comes quickly: He needs time. Please respect that.

Time. I can do that. The desperate panic that’s been clawing at my chest since Halvorsen’s call begins to ease.

My phone rings before I can process the relief fully. Halvorsen’s name flashes on the screen.

“I heard you quit,”

he says without preamble.

“Leo’s safe,”

I reply instead of addressing his statement.

“His mother has him.”

“Thank God.”

Genuine relief colors his voice.

“And your job?”

I look back at the university buildings.

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Good for you,”

Halvorsen says.

“What are you going to do now?”

I unlock my car, sliding behind the wheel with a strange sense of finality. I’ve now lost two jobs for the love of my life who may never forgive me because I screwed up.

“Wait,”

I say, starting the engine.

“Give him the time he needs.

I can only hope it’s enough.