Too Late, Alpha: I Am Now Untouchable

A Broken Bond

Maeve’s POV

I stood on the porch for a moment, the cold morning air hitting my face. The sound of Kael’s car tires grinding down the driveway faded into the distance. He was gone, chasing Elizabeth’s latest crisis.

I looked at the heavy oak door of the house I had called home for seven years. I still had my key in my hand. I reached out and pulled the door shut, but I did not lock it. It was no longer my responsibility to keep the world out.

I walked back into the foyer. My suitcases sat by the door. I knew I should just leave, but the silence of the house pulled at me. I needed to see him one last time. I needed to know if there was even a shred of the boy I had raised left behind that scowl. If he apologizes to me, I’ll take him away no matter what.

I climbed the stairs; I reached Leo’s door. It was closed. I knocked softly. There was no answer, so I pushed the door open.

Leo was sitting on the floor in the middle of a pile of Lego bricks. He didn't look up. He was building something. He was wearing the new headset Elizabeth had bought him last week. I could hear the tinny sound of game music leaking out.

"Leo," I said.

He didn't move.

I walked over and touched his shoulder. He flinched away as if I had burnt him. He pulled the headset down around his neck and glared at me.

"What?" he snapped. "Dad said you were leaving. Why are you still here?"

I sat on the edge of his bed. I looked at his small frame. He was thin, a result of his premature birth and the high metabolic demands of his heart condition.

"I came to say goodbye, Leo. I am going to stay with Aunt Kat for a while."

"Good," Leo said and turned back to his Legos. "Now I can eat what I want. Elizabeth said she’s going to take me to the candy shop tomorrow. She said she won't make me take those pills that make me sleepy."

"Leo, those pills keep your heart rate steady," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. "You know what the doctors told us. If your heart works too hard, it gets tired. You need the medicine."

"Elizabeth says you just say that to keep me quiet," Leo countered and then looked at me with a coldness that made my skin crawl. "She says you like me being sick so you can be the boss. She’s not mean like you. She doesn't yell about nuts or sugar. She just wants me to be happy."

"I want you to be alive, baby," I said. "Do you remember the last time you had a peanut? Do you remember the hospital, Leo? The tubes and the machines?"

"That was a long time ago," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Elizabeth says I probably outgrew it. She said you’re just holding onto it because you’re scared of everything."

Caring for Leo over the years has turned me into a professional “nurse.” I knew exactly how fast anaphylaxis could close a seven-year-old’s airway. I knew how fragile his mitral valve was. I sacrificed my violin and my professional identity to become his full-time medical monitor and mother.

I had turned my kitchen into a laboratory of safety just to keep him out of the grave. And in three months, Elizabeth had undone all of it with a few bags of sweets and a fake smile.

"I am not scared of everything, Leo. I am scared for you," I said.

"Well, don't be," he said. He stood up and pushed his Lego tower over. It shattered across the floor. "I’m tired of you being scared. I’m tired of your gross food and your rules. Just go. Dad is coming back with Aunt Elizabeth, and we’re going to have a real Christmas. A fun one."

He walked over to his desk, put his headset back on, and turned his back to me.

I stood up. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. I wanted to grab him, to shake him, to make him understand that the woman he was choosing didn't know the first thing about his medications or his triggers. But I looked at his rigid back and realized it wouldn't matter. He had been poisoned by a narrative I couldn't fight with facts.

I walked out of the room and closed the door behind me. I didn't say another word. I went down the stairs, picked up my suitcases, and walked out the front door.

The driveway was empty. The neighborhood was quiet, with most families still inside opening gifts. I put my bags in the trunk of my car. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely fit the key into the ignition.

I drove away. I didn't look back at the house in the rearview mirror. I focused on the road, my mind tallying the things I was leaving behind. I was leaving the specialized medical equipment in the pantry. I was leaving the emergency injectors in the hall closet. Those all belong to Leo. I was leaving the husband who saw my competence as a threat and the son who saw my love as a prison.

I drove for twenty minutes in silence. Just the hum of the engine. When I pulled into Kat’s driveway, she was already standing on the porch. She didn't ask questions. She just walked down and opened my car door.

"You did it," she said.

"I did it," I replied. My voice sounded like a stranger's.

"How was he?"

"He told me to go," I said. I stepped out of the car. My legs felt weak. "He told me he wishes Elizabeth were his mother. He thinks I’ve been making up his illness to control him."

Kat grabbed my bags. "He’s a child, Maeve. He’s being manipulated by Elizabeth."

"I know," I said. "But I’m still heartbroken. He’s my son, yet he doesn’t want me to be his mother."

We walked inside. Kat’s guest room was small, but it was clean and quiet. She set my bags down.

"What now?" she asked.

I sat on the edge of the bed. For the first time in seven years, I didn't have to check a clock for a medication schedule. I didn't have to scan a room for allergens. I didn't have to wonder where Kael was or who he was calling.

"Now I go back to work," I said. "I gave up my career for a family that doesn't want me. I’m going to go find the woman I was before I met Kael."

"You’re a brilliant musician, Maeve. Any opera house in Houston would be lucky to have you back."

"I hope so," I said. "Because I have nothing else left."

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. I thought of Leo, alone in that house, waiting for a father who was in a hospital and a woman who used him as a tool. I felt a sharp pang of fear, the old instinct to run back and protect him, but I pushed it down.

I had given him seven years of safety. I had given him my life. He had thrown it back in my face. I couldn't be his shield if he were the one holding the sword.