VELERA’S POV

Rain pelted the roof of the car as I stirred awake, a dull ache settling in my joints from another night curled in the cramped backseat. The air was damp, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones, and when I cracked my eyes open, I could barely make out the grey smear of morning through the foggy windows. Outside, water fell in sheets. I groaned softly and rubbed at my eyes. It was too early, but time didn’t work the same when you lived out of a car. Every morning came with a list of tasks just to stay clean and fed, and the rain only made things harder.

Shifting to sit up, I reached behind the seat, groping blindly for my umbrella. My fingers brushed against the cold metal handle, and I pulled it free. I shoved my feet into my shoes, their soles already worn thin, then leaned over and checked on Kael. He was still asleep, bundled in his blanket, his tiny chest rising and falling with soft, snuffling breaths. I adjusted the edge of the fabric to make sure he stayed warm.

My empty water bucket sat wedged beneath the seat. I grabbed it, opened the car door, and quickly raised the umbrella overhead, cradling the bucket in the crook of my elbow. Balancing everything with practiced clumsiness, I carefully scooped my son into my free arm. His little head flopped against my shoulder as I murmured apologies, trying not to jostle him too much. The last thing I needed was for him to start crying in this weather.

The pavement was slick beneath my feet as I hurried toward the train station. My grip tightened around the umbrella. One wrong step and I could slip, and with a baby in my arms, that risk wasn't something I could afford. By the time I reached the bathroom and nudged open the handicapped stall with my foot, my coat was soaked and my fingers numb.

Inside, I exhaled sharply and lowered the bucket into the sink. I turned the faucet and let warm water fill the plastic container, the steam curling upward like a fragile promise. Then came the tricky part. Still holding Kael, I wriggled my hips to slide my pants down just enough to relieve myself. Every motion was awkward, made harder by the weight of my son and the absence of a third hand. I hated this part of my mornings. There was nowhere clean to set him down, nowhere safe, so he had to stay in my arms, no matter how inconvenient.

When I finished, I yanked my pants back up with one hand, struggling to get them over my hips without dropping him. I managed to wash one hand before shutting off the faucet, juggling Kael and the bucket with careful movements. Somehow, with the grace of desperation, I got the umbrella back open and made my way out of the bathroom.

By the time I got back to the car, water was dripping from the edge of the umbrella. I quickly opened the hatchback and ducked inside, sheltering both my son and the precious bucket from the rain. I laid Kael gently in his makeshift bed, a nest of blankets and clothes in the corner of the wagon, before pulling the bucket in beside me.

With practiced motions, I soaped a washcloth and gave him a gentle sponge bath. He cooed and blinked up at me, his tiny fists waving in the air. His skin was soft and warm beneath the cloth, and I worked quickly to keep the chill off him. Once he was clean, I dressed him in a fresh diaper and the last clean onesie I had. I gave his forehead a soft kiss. “There we go, all clean and fresh for today.”

Using what remained of the warm water, I scrubbed myself down the best I could. It wasn’t the same as a real shower, not even close. But it had to be enough. My muscles ached, and the thin layer of sweat and stress clinging to my skin didn’t help. I missed showers. Real showers. The kind with steady hot water and soap that didn’t come from a travel bottle. I used to take them for granted. Now they felt like a luxury from another life.

Occasionally, I could use the showers at the rest stops, but that took fuel, and my tank was nearly empty. I had no choice but to ration what little money I had left. After being kicked out by my parents, I’d scraped together my savings, working at a Chinese restaurant on Main Street during the last months of my pregnancy. Every tip had gone toward baby clothes, food, and necessities. But that money vanished fast once Kael was born. Diapers were expensive, and now I needed formula too.

My milk had dried up from the stress before I even left the hospital. The nurses tried to reassure me, but nothing they said could fix the guilt I felt when I gave him his first bottle. Now I had to buy formula and bottled water, both of which were running low. My car looked like a cluttered storeroom, diapers stacked beside boxes of granola bars and half-empty formula tins. But it was all I had.

I reached into my wallet, fingers trembling, and pulled out the last $100 bill. I stared at it for a long moment, my chest tightening. This was it. This was all that stood between us and an empty belly. I folded the bill back into the worn leather and sighed, leaning back against the door. The rain tapped steadily against the roof. It almost sounded like a lullaby.

I thought about the restaurant. I’d already tried to get my job back, but they wouldn’t take me. Too much of a liability, the manager said with a tight smile and apologetic shrug. And my parents… well, that was a closed door too. They hadn’t answered my calls. My father had the phone service cut off completely. Still, I kept checking it, clinging to a sliver of hope that maybe one day, a miracle would appear in the form of a missed call or a message.

And then there was him, Kael’s father. I’d reached out once, desperate to tell him he had a son. I still remembered the conversation. His laugh on the other end of the line had felt like a slap.

“No way I’d mess around with someone that young,” he scoffed. “What do you think I am?”

I hadn’t even tried to argue. He didn’t remember me, not really. That night had been a blur for both of us. I wasn’t supposed to be in that part of the hotel. My sister and I had sneaked in with fake IDs, determined to catch a glimpse of the Alphas, real ones, the older men, the powerful ones we’d only heard stories about. I barely remembered anything, except that I’d felt something strange that night. A pull. A connection.

I was sure he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been just in my head. Could it?

I pushed the thought aside and reached for a granola bar. I tore the wrapper and took a bite, chewing slowly as I stared out at the wet street. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten much yesterday. It was easier to stretch food when you gave most of it to your child.

God, I missed real meals. I missed the smell of my mother’s cooking, the way the house used to fill with warmth and the sounds of laughter. My mom made the best food. No one could roast a chicken like she did, crispy skin and buttery meat falling off the bone. Just thinking about it made my mouth water and my eyes sting.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away, sniffling as I picked up my phone and unlocked it. The screen lit up, no new messages, no missed calls. Just photos. I scrolled through them, each image a reminder of the life I used to have. My little sister grinning with her arms around me. My parents smiling at some holiday dinner. I stared at them until the screen blurred.

I missed her, my sister. I wished I could see her again, even if just for a minute. Even just to say goodbye properly.

The rain fell harder, and I pulled Kael into my lap, pressing my cheek to the top of his head. “We’re gonna be okay,” I whispered, though the words tasted hollow. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

Because I had to. There wasn’t another option.