DAVE
Old Ghosts
The letter arrives on a Tuesday morning while Kat retches into our toilet, the sound of morning sickness now as familiar as birdsong. I hold her hair back with one hand while scanning the official-looking document with the other, my blood gradually heating to a boil as I parse the legal terminology.
"The Howler's Blood Pack of Bowling Green hereby asserts territorial and familial claim over Suzy Lightfoot, recognized Alpha Female, based on birth rights and pack bloodlines..."
"What is it?" Kat emerges from the bathroom, pale but steady. Five and a half months pregnant now, she moves with the careful grace of someone carrying precious cargo that kicks like professional soccer players.
I hand her the letter wordlessly, watching her expression shift from confusion to fury
