My fingers tighten around the phone 103

Aria’s POV
I won’t cling to heartbreak anymore. I’m done with the pity party, done feeling worthless and cast aside. This is my life,
and I’m taking back control. Let Ethan and Emma have their web of lies—my children and I deserve better.
I swallowed my prenatal vitamins with a grimace, chasing them with herbal anti-nausea remedies. Not ideal, but they’d
have to work until I found proper medical care. After getting dressed and brushing my teeth, I padded into the living
room where Lucas was curled up on the couch.
“Morning, sweetie,” I whispered, sinking down beside him and combing my fingers through his soft hair. We cuddled
together, the cartoon on TV gradually pulling me in, helping the anger from that morning’s call fade away. My phone
buzzed repeatedly from my pocket, but I ignored it. This moment belonged to Lucas and me alone.
“Can we eat? I want soup,” Lucas pleaded, his emerald eyes looking up from the cartoon. I couldn’t help but smile at his
simple request, the momentary distraction from my thoughts welcome.
“Of course, sweetie,” I replied, pushing myself off the couch with renewed purpose.
The moment I placed my phone on the kitchen counter, it lit up with Ethan’s name, the screen glowing accusingly.
Something snapped inside me—a dam of frustration breaking. I slammed the soup pot down with such force that it
rattled the utensils nearby, the metallic clang echoing my internal rage.
“Seriously? Now?” I muttered through clenched teeth, glaring at the device as if it had personally betrayed me.
Against my better judgment, my fingers moved to the messages:
Ethan: “I didn’t sleep with Emma. Please call me back. Aria, I need to talk to you.”
My thumbs jabbed at the screen: “I don’t care, Ethan. I’m done.”
His reply appeared almost immediately, as if he’d been clutching his phone, waiting: “Let’s talk.”
“Go away,” I typed, each letter punctuated with fury, my finger hovering for just a heartbeat before hitting the block
button. The small action felt surprisingly powerful—like cutting a toxic cord.
I released a long, shaky breath, letting my palms press against the cool marble countertop. The chill seeped into my skin,
grounding me. Two little lives now depended on me. I couldn’t keep throwing myself into the emotional whirlwind that
swirled around Ethan. For once—for all three of us—I needed calm waters.
As I rhythmically chopped carrots for the soup, my thoughts tumbled forward in time. Cribs. Tiny onesies. Pediatrician
appointments. The endless midnight feedings I’d almost forgotten about. Would Lucas resent sharing my attention? Or would he embrace being a big brother? The questions multiplied with each slice of my knife.
“Mom? Can I help?”
I looked up to find Lucas peering around the doorframe, half his body hidden as if testing whether his intrusion was welcome. His eyes sparkled with eagerness, one cowlick of hair standing straight up from his sleep-tousled head.
“My kitchen hero arrives just in time!” I gestured him over with exaggerated excitement. “Everything’s in the pot and
ready to go. Think you could be my official soup guardian? Can’t let it burn.”
Lucas’s entire face transformed with the responsibility. He scrambled across the kitchen, dragging his dinosaur-painted
step stool with a wooden scrape across the floor. He positioned it with the precision of a tiny engineer before climbing
up, back straight with importance.
“When me and Ethan made soup,” he announced solemnly, “we almost burned it all up. There was smoke EVERYWHERE!” His free hand waved wildly to illustrate the catastrophe.
My throat tightened at Ethan’s name, a reflexive reaction I couldn’t control. I swallowed past it and kept my voice light.
“That sounds like quite the kitchen adventure.”
“Uh-huh!” Lucas nodded vigorously, his whole body bouncing with the motion. “But I told him—” he wagged his little
finger in perfect imitation of me “—you gotta stir from the BOTTOM or it gets stuck.” His chest puffed with pride as he
demonstrated the proper technique, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. “Just like you taught me.”
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Watching him, so earnest and determined with his too-big ladle, something tender and fierce swelled in my chest. My
beautiful boy was growing up so fast. And soon, he might not be my only one.
“Lucas?” The question caught in my throat. His green eyes lifted to mine, innocent and trusting. My heart fluttered like a
trapped bird. “How would you feel about… having a little brother or sister someday?”
His eyes grew comically round. Then his little brows drew together, creating that adorable crease.
“A sister,” he finally declared with absolute certainty, nodding once as if settling a debate. “I want a baby sister.”
The decisiveness of his answer caught me by surprise. “Really? A sister specifically? How come?”
Lucas’s face scrunched up, his nose wrinkling and lips pursing as he considered this very serious question. He stirred the
soup once more before turning to me with the wisdom only a six-year-old could possess.
“Because,” he explained patiently, as if the answer should be obvious, “I’m the man of the house now.” He thumped his
small chest with his free hand. “It’s my job to protect you and baby sister. That’s what men do.”
His words hit me like a thunderclap—this tiny person declaring himself the protector of our little family with such
certainty. For a moment, I couldn’t speak, overwhelmed by the mixture of heartbreak and pride swelling inside my chest.
Then laughter burst from me.
“Oh, Lucas,” I managed between gasps, reaching out to frame his puzzled face between my palms. This beautiful, brave
little soul had been my lighthouse through the darkest storms of my life.
When my laughter finally settled into a warm glow, I pulled him close against me, feeling his small, sturdy body fit
perfectly in my arms. His heart beat steadily against mine as I gently rocked him. In that moment, I knew with absolute
certainty—he was ready.
“I have something incredibly special to tell you,” I whispered against his hair, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
“But it’s a very big secret, just between us for now. Think you can keep it safe?”
Lucas’s eyes widened, practically glowing with the thrill of being entrusted with grown-up information. He straightened
his shoulders and made an exaggerated zipping motion across his lips before nodding solemnly.
I took a deep breath, my hands instinctively resting on my still-flat abdomen. “The thing is, sweetie… there’s already a
baby growing in Mommy’s tummy right now. You’re going to be a big brother.”
Lucas’s jaw dropped, his spoon forgotten in the soup as he slowly lowered his gaze to my stomach. He stared with such
intensity, as if expecting to see movement or some visible sign of the tiny life within. The seconds stretched into what felt
like minutes before he finally whispered, voice filled with wonder and disbelief:
“There’s a real baby in there? Right now?”
I couldn’t help the fresh wave of laughter that escaped me—gentler this time, touched with tenderness. I ran my fingers
through his unruly hair, savoring its silky texture.
“Yes, a very tiny one. Too small to see yet, but growing every day.”
Lucas continued staring, processing this monumental news with the seriousness it deserved. We moved to the table, and
the soup had barely touched our bowls before Lucas launched into a rapid-fire interrogation:
“When will the baby come out? Is it a girl baby? Can it hear me yet? Will it sleep in my room? Can I teach it how to play
dinosaurs? What’s its name?”
The questions tumbled out between spoonfuls, barely pausing for breath or answers. I fielded each one as best I could
until the name question stopped me short. My hand drifted unconsciously to my belly again. This child carried the blood
of two powerful Alpha lineages—a heritage that would shape their entire existence.
Just as I opened my mouth to answer, my phone vibrated against the counter, the screen lighting up with Leo’s name.