FIVE YEARS LATER

The harsh white lights above me buzzed faintly, mixing with the beeping of machines and the muffled rustle of sterile gloves. The air was sharp with the scent of antiseptic, the kind of smell that clung to skin long after leaving the operating room. My eyes were locked on the deep crimson wound beneath the bright overhead lamp. A young girl lay on the table, barely breathing when she was wheeled in because of a rogue attack. The gash on her side bled slow but deep. I didn’t flinch.

“Clamp,” I said, my voice steady, cutting through the tension hanging in the air like a blade.

The nurse handed it over, quick and quiet. I pressed the clamp to stop the bleeding, my fingers sure, trained. Sweat pricked at the back of my neck, but my hands didn’t shake. They never did anymore.

“Pulse stable,” murmured one of the residents beside me, her voice laced with hope.

“We’re not done yet,” I replied. “Suction.”

The team worked like a well-oiled machine around me. Years ago, I had been the outsider, the one barely holding it together. Now, I was the one they followed.

Thirty-eight minutes later, I tied the last stitch with precision. A deep breath escaped me as I stepped back. “It’s done. She’ll make it.”

A collective sigh filled the room. One of the interns quietly muttered, “Damn, that was incredible,” before someone elbowed him.

I peeled off my gloves, the snap echoing louder than expected, then tugged down my mask. My face felt flushed, but not from exhaustion, there was something satisfying in knowing I had pulled someone back from the edge.

Outside the OR, the waiting area was quiet, thick with the kind of tension only desperate parents knew. A couple stood as I approached, a middle-aged man and woman, both with worn eyes and trembling hands. Their daughter had been mauled while wandering too close to a rogue border. They looked like they hadn’t breathed in hours.

“She’s stable now,” I said gently. “The surgery went well. She’ll need rest, but she’s safe.”

The mother gasped, covering her mouth as her knees buckled slightly. The father steadied her, eyes glistening. Then he looked at me with a raw kind of gratitude that hit me square in the chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Thank you so much.”

She wrapped her arms around me before I could react. I stiffened only for a second, then let her cry into my shoulder, patting her back gently.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said quietly. “She’s strong. She just needed a little help.”

Once they had calmed, I slipped away, my steps quieter as I walked down the familiar corridors of Harmony Ridge Medical Center. My reflection passed along the glass walls, white coat, loose bun, tired but proud eyes.

I hadn’t always looked like this.

Five years ago, I had been barely hanging on. Pregnant, rejected, abandoned. But something inside me had refused to break. I had chosen my babies and myself. Slowly, yet agonizingly, I rebuilt.

I returned to school, finished what I started. Studied between feedings and naps, between diapers and doctor appointments. I passed every exam. Graduated with honors. And when I needed someone to believe in me, Dr. Myers had.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it for now. I needed a moment to breathe.

A few more steps and I spotted him, Dr. Myers, leaning over a patient file just outside the staff lounge. He looked up as I approached, his face lighting up.

“Well,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “they’re calling you a surgical goddess back there.”

I snorted softly. “You’d think after years they’d get tired of exaggerating.”

“Not when it’s true,” he said, handing me a coffee he somehow always knew I needed. “You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It went better than expected.”

He studied me for a second. “You’ve come a long way, Vidya.”

“I know.” I glanced down at the coffee, my fingers tightening slightly. “I wouldn’t have without you.”

Dr. Myers just smiled, eyes kind. “Nah. I just held the ladder. You climbed.”

Our conversation lingered with warmth, like a fireplace on a rainy day. After a few more words, I excused myself, telling him I needed to check on something in my office.

As I walked, my eyes caught the familiar posters on the hospital walls, ones I had helped design. “Rejection Recovery Wing—You Are Not Alone.” Arden wasn’t like other places. It didn’t turn away rogues. Didn’t ignore human suffering or shame the broken. It was the only hospital I knew that treated every species, every class, every story.

A rejected omega? Welcome. A half-human hybrid? We’d find a way. I fit right in here because I knew what it meant to be lost, to claw your way back.

The hallway outside my office was quiet. Peaceful.

Then I heard it.

“Mom!”

My breath caught, and I turned sharply.

Three small figures barreled toward me, tiny shoes slapping against the tile, arms wide, faces bright.

“Kai,” I gasped, catching the first into my arms. “Liam, Aria... oh my god, what are you three doing here?”

Kai hugged me tightly, burying his face in my shoulder like he had missed me for a hundred years. Liam pressed against my side, his eyes soft and steady. Aria bounced in place before wrapping her little arms around my waist.

“Uncle Darry picked us up early!” she chirped, her smile missing one of her front teeth. “He said we could surprise you!”

I looked up, startled, and there he was.

Darius stood a few steps behind them, dressed down in jeans and a navy blue hoodie, hands in his pockets, watching the reunion with that lazy, amused smile of his. His eyes met mine, and there was something soft in them.

“I figured you’d want a good end to a hard day,” he said, stepping closer.

“Darius,” I breathed, a little overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do that. I mean, I didn’t ask…”

He raised a brow, cutting me off gently. “Vidya. Please. I live for these little squirrels.”

He crouched behind them and gathered them all into a playful group hug, ruffling Liam’s hair and kissing Kai on the cheek. Aria squealed as he lifted her into the air and twirled her once before setting her down.

“I missed you!” she giggled.

“Missed you more,” he said, poking her nose.

I watched, my heart swelling so big I felt like I couldn’t hold it inside.

Darius, once a stranger, then a friend, and now… something more. Something I couldn’t name. He had been there from the moment I nearly collapsed in the rain with nothing but my swollen belly and a bleeding heart. He had stayed. Through every scream, every bottle, every tiny milestone. My triplets adored him. And truth be told, I did too.

I stood, smoothing my coat. “Well, since you’re already here, wanna walk me to my office?”

“We’d be honored,” Darius said, grinning.

The kids each grabbed one of my hands and one of his, skipping ahead as we walked.

My gaze drifted to the large window at the end of the hall. Beyond the glass, the sky was painted in shades of soft orange and fading blue, dusk creeping over the city. I paused for a heartbeat, just to breathe it in.

My wolf had never returned. After the rejection, she had vanished like mist at sunrise. I had waited. Hoped. But… nothing. At first, it had broken me. Then I had realized something: I didn’t need her to survive.

I had found something stronger.

Love. Purpose. Peace.

As my children laughed and Darius told them some silly joke that made Aria cackle and Liam roll his eyes in fond embarrassment, I felt that quiet stillness settle inside me again.

This… this was everything.

And I hoped… no, I prayed that it would stay this way.