147 Anger and Regret
Lucian
I didn’t understand why she’d called Joey. Of all people.
If they were married, maybe it would make sense. But Joey? He was just one of many-another body she’d used to numb whatever emptiness she refused to face. And yet, there he stood beside her like he had a place here. He didn’t.
“What the f**k are you still doing here, Tina?” I asked, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence. She flinched. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but it didn’t move me-not even a little.
Because this-all of this-was her fault.
Her selfishness. Her stunts. Her insatiable hunger for attention.
“Your need to be seen, to be pitied, to stay tethered to me-it led to this. I hope you’re happy now,” I said, the venom in my voice impossible to hide. “You tricked me into a pregnancy. You thought if you played sick enough, if you made it dramatic enough, I’d stay. But you didn’t just hurt yourself, Tina. You hurt him.”
I turned to Joey, who stiffened under my gaze.
“You’d better be careful with her,” I warned. “She’ll burn you and act surprised when the flames catch.”
He didn’t say a word. Just stood there like a man who knew better than to challenge an Alpha on the verge of losing control. Good. Because I was hanging by a thread-and the only reason it hadn’t snapped was because my son was still fighting for breath.
“I’m sorry, Lu-Alpha Nighthorn,” Tina stammered, her voice breaking. Her hand grazed her cheek-maybe out of habit, or maybe she still felt the sting of my father’s slap. Either way, I wasn’t moved.
I used to pity her. Thought she was broken, not malicious. I even believed she deserved better when I left her for Mara.
But right now?
I wanted to erase every trace of sympathy I’d ever felt.
“Because of you,” I said, my voice shaking, “our son was born with congenital diaphragmatic hernia. Do you even understand what that means, Tina? One side of his diaphragm never closed. His stomach, intestines, and liver pushed into his chest and crushed his lungs while he was still forming. He’s been gasping for space to live since the moment he
was born.”
Tina’s lips parted, eyes widening in horror.
“His lungs are underdeveloped. He may never breathe without support. He may never run or laugh without needing a machine. And all because you took medications-deliberately-to fake symptoms in your first trimester.”
“You’ll take him from me?” she whispered, her voice laced with desperation.
I stared at her like she was a stranger.
“You were never going to keep him,” I replied flatly. “Mara was going to take care of him. She was willing to raise him. But now? Now he’s a special case. He needs round-the-clock medical attention, specialised care. He’s being moved to Neev- to a centre where he might have a fighting chance.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please… I’ll go with him. I’ll follow him to Neev. Just don’t take him from me.”
“No,” I said, my voice firm. “You are unstable, Tina. You are not safe for him. This is not about your pain. This is about his
life.”
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+8 Points
I took a step closer, letting her see the finality in my eyes.
“You have two choices: let him go to Neev and accept that you are no longer part of his life-or I leave him with you and Joey, and never look back. And believe me, I can walk away. I’ve made peace with my conscience.”
A beat of silence passed before I added, “My wife is pregnant. I have moved on.”
It wasn’t entirely true. Not yet. My heart was still bleeding.
But for Richard’s sake-for the boy fighting in the NICU with tubes in his nose and a ventilator doing what his lungs could
not-I needed this to end.
Because the next time I looked at my son, I wanted to see hope.
Not Tina.
We stood in silence for a long time. Tina pressed her palm lightly against the glass that separated us from the NICU, her eyes fixed on Richard’s tiny body surrounded by machines. Tubes ran from his nose and chest. He looked impossibly small beneath the blinking lights and sterile equipment, like he didn’t belong to this world yet. Like he hadn’t been given a
real chance to.
“Will I be allowed to send him birthday cards in Neev?” she asked quietly, her voice brittle and trembling at the edges.
I didn’t flinch. “No.”
She turned her head slightly, stunned by the bluntness.
“You are poison, Tina,” I said, staring at the side of her face. “I don’t want that kind of energy around my son. His body is already fighting to survive. His heart-his lungs-are literally too fragile to handle your shit.”
Her eyes closed, and for once, she didn’t argue. She simply let her fingers slide down the glass.
Then she looked past me-at Mara.
“I know this might be too much to ask…” Her voice cracked. “But please… take care of him.”
Mara didn’t reply. Not with words. She just stared at the infant, arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together. I knew that silence. It was her way of holding herself back. Of staying out of something she had every reason to be furious about-
but couldn’t turn her back on entirely.
Tina looked away, her shoulders slumping. Maybe for the first time, she truly grasped what she’d done.
An hour later, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted our vigil. A team of professionals entered the corridor-men and women in pale blue scrubs, moving with a calm, clinical precision. At their head was a tall man with greying hair and a
calm confidence that instantly commanded respect.
“Good evening,” he said with a soft Russian accent. “I am Doctor Vladmir Ivanova, cardiothoracic specialist with the Neev Institute. It’s an honour to meet you, Alpha Nighthorn. We’ve heard a great deal about you-and about Driftwake.”
He extended a gloved hand, and I shook it firmly.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I said. “I won’t waste your time. What are my son’s chances?”
He offered a gentle smile, then glanced through the glass. His team was already entering the NICU, surrounding Richard with quiet efficiency.
“I’ve reviewed his medical file,” Dr. Ivanova said. “The condition is a congenital diaphragmatic hernia. Because his diaphragm did not form properly during the early stages of development, several abdominal organs have shifted into his chest cavity-compressing his lungs. His breathing difficulties are severe but manageable. The most critical step now is stabilisation and gradual preparation for surgery.”
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I swallowed hard, feeling Mara’s hand slip into mine.
“Will he need surgery soon?” I asked.
“Yes,” the doctor replied. “But not immediately. First, we need to monitor his oxygen levels, build up his pulmonary function, and assess his body’s response to treatment. Surgery is delicate-we must repair the hole in his diaphragm and reposition the organs into their rightful place. The environment at Neev is better suited for this kind of long-term intensive
care.”
He paused, scanning my face. “It won’t be easy, Alpha. But I believe your son can grow strong-if we act quickly, and if he is protected from stress and emotional trauma. I strongly advise that he remain in our care for at least the next three months. After that, you may begin visiting regularly.”
I nodded, emotion clogging my throat. “Thank you.”
Dr. Ivanova glanced briefly at Tina, then turned back to me.
“We’ll also be conducting further assessments for any secondary damage-especially considering the drugs the mother ingested during pregnancy. These substances have been linked to developmental complications. Some effects may not be immediately visible.”
My jaw clenched, and I followed his gaze to Tina.
She stared at the floor, shame painted across her face. No protests. No excuses. Just the deafening weight of consequences finally catching up with her.
Richard didn’t need her guilt.
He needed peace.
And I would give him that-even if it meant shutting doors that could never be opened again.
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