Chapter 3
1100 Words
SLOANE
I take the day off. No clinic. No Luna duties. No meetings. Just Caleb.
I set up crayons and paper on the living room floor. Pancakes shaped like wolves. His favorite cup. I want today to feel normal. I want to feel like his mother again.
Caleb sits cross‑legged, already drawing. He doesn’t look up when I sit beside him.
“Want to draw together?” I ask.
“No.”
I try again. “I’ll just sit here then.”
He shrugs and keeps coloring. I sketch a small tree beside his wolf. He glances at it, frowns, and pushes my hand away.
“You’re ruining it.”
“I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Go away.”
The words land harder than they should. He’s four. He doesn’t understand how sharp he sounds. I move a little farther but stay on the floor.
Hunter is out on pack business. Ava is resting in her room. The house is quiet except for the scratch of crayons.
Caleb finishes his drawing and stands. “I’m done.”
“Can I see?”
He ignores me and walks out. I follow him down the hall, keeping a few steps behind.
“Caleb? Where are you going?”
He doesn’t answer.
He heads straight to the west wing.
Straight to her.
He knocks once and pushes Ava’s door open. “Mommy! Look what I made!”
My heart drops.
Ava sits up in bed, hair messy, face pale but glowing in that way she always glows around him. She smiles wide.
“Oh sweetheart, come here.”
He climbs onto her bed and hands her the drawing.
“Mommy, look!”
Again.
Not Mommy Auntie. Not Auntie Ava. Just Mommy.
Ava’s eyes flick to mine — a flash of triumph she hides quickly — then she turns back to him.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, kissing his forehead.
I step into the doorway. “Caleb, sweetheart… don’t call her that.”
He stiffens. “Why?”
“Because I’m your mom,” I say gently. “Ava is—”
“My mommy,” he snaps.
“No,” I say, firmer. “She’s not.”
Ava’s expression shifts. “Sloane, he’s just a child. He doesn’t understand titles.”
“He understands enough,” I say. “And this isn’t appropriate.”
Ava’s smile fades. “I’m the one who’s here. I’m the one he sees every day. You’re always gone.”
The words hit like a slap.
Caleb crosses his arms. “I want to call her Mommy.”
“You can’t,” I say, voice tight. “I’m your mother.”
He glares at me — a tiny, furious glare that shouldn’t hurt this much. “You’re mean.”
“I’m not being mean,” I whisper. “I’m trying to—”
“You’re yelling at me!” he screams.
“I’m not—”
“You’re yelling!”
Ava pulls him close. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.”
The word slices through me.
I step forward. “Ava, stop encouraging—”
“I’m comforting him,” she snaps. “Something you should be doing.”
“I’m trying—”
“You’re failing.”
Before I can respond, Hunter walks in.
He freezes, taking in the scene:
Caleb crying.
Ava holding him.
Me standing there, shaking.
“What’s going on?” he demands.
Ava answers first. “Sloane is upset because Caleb called me Mommy.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens. “Seriously?”
I turn to him. “Hunter, he can’t call her that. It’s confusing.”
“He’s a kid,” Hunter says. “He doesn’t know any better.”
“He knows enough,” I say. “And Ava isn’t his mother.”
Ava gasps softly, like I’ve wounded her. “I never said I was.”
“You didn’t have to,” I say. “You let him.”
Hunter steps between us. “Sloane, stop. You’re overreacting.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he snaps. “Ava hasn’t done anything wrong.”
My chest tightens. “She’s encouraging it.”
“She’s comforting him,” Hunter fires back. “Something you should be doing instead of yelling.”
“I wasn’t yelling!”
Caleb cries harder.
Ava strokes his hair. “Ssh. It’s alright.”
Hunter turns to me, eyes cold. “You’re upsetting him. Go upstairs.”
“I’m not leaving my son.”
“He doesn’t want you right now.”
The words knock the air out of me.
“Hunter, please—”
He grabs my wrist — not hard, but firm — and pulls me out of the room.
“We’re talking upstairs.”
He drags me down the hall, up the stairs, into our bedroom, and shuts the door.
“What is wrong with you?” he snaps.
I stare at him. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You embarrassed Ava. You scared Caleb. You made a scene.”
“I was correcting him,” I say, voice shaking. “He called her Mommy.”
“So what?”
“So what?” I repeat, stunned. “I’m his mother.”
Hunter scoffs. “You’re barely here.”
The words hit harder than anything he’s ever said.
“I work,” I whisper. “For this pack. For our family.”
“And Ava is here,” he says. “Every day. Helping. Supporting. Being present.”
“I’m present,” I say, tears burning. “I’m trying.”
“Trying isn’t enough.”
I flinch.
He doesn’t stop.
“You need to stop being jealous,” he says. “It’s pathetic.”
“I’m not jealous,” I whisper. “I’m hurt.”
“Same thing.”
“No,” I say, voice breaking. “It’s not.”
He shakes his head. “You’re making problems where there aren’t any. Ava is pregnant. She needs support. And Caleb loves her. Let him.”
“He’s my son,” I say, barely audible.
Hunter’s expression hardens. “Then act like it.”
He opens the door and walks out without another word.
I sink to the floor, pressing a hand to my mouth to keep from sobbing too loudly. My chest aches. My throat burns. My eyes sting.
Downstairs, I hear Caleb laughing again.
With her. Not me. Never me.
I curl into myself, the weight of everything pressing down until I can barely breathe.
This is the moment I finally understand: I’m losing them.
All of them.
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