"He sends money home." She says it quietly, not accusatory. "Even though I tell him not to. Even though we're managingfine."
"He worries."
"I know. That's the problem." Rebecca looks at me directly. "He's not responsible for us. For me and Pen. We're okay. He needs to build his own life without feeling guilty about it."
"I'll remind him of that."
"Will you?" Her smile is slight but genuine. "Because he doesn't listen to me. Might listen to his omega though."
We sit in comfortable silence, drinking tea while the garden rests around us.
"I work with broken families," Rebecca says eventually. "Child protection services. Every day I see what happens when people don't choose each other. When structure matters more than care."
"That must be hard."
"It is. But it also teaches me what to look for." She turns to face me fully. "This pack you're building, this is what you really want?"
"It’s everything I want, and more."
"And you're safe?"
"Completely."
She nods once. "Then that's what matters."
We're quiet again. The garden smells like earth and approaching winter.
"Julian told me about your family," Rebecca says gently. "That you lost your parents young. That you were raised by your grandmother."
I tense slightly.
"I'm not asking for details," she continues. "That's your business. But I want you to know something."
She sets down her mug, reaches over to take my hand.
"If you're Julian's pack, you're my daughter too. Not replacing anyone, just adding. You need something, you call me. You're family now."
"Thank you.” She is so like Julian, the resemblance is uncanny.
A few tears escape despite my best efforts. Rebecca pulls me into a hug, firm and motherly and exactly what some part of me has been missing for years.
"Come on," she says when we separate, both of us a little teary. "It's cold and I'm sure Pen has buried Julian in photo albums by now."
Inside, Pen has indeed produced multiple photo albums. Julian looks vaguely horrified, hovering around them as if trying to catch the worst pictures before Pen can show the other alphas.
"This is me, age four, completely covered in mud," Pen narrates cheerfully. "And this is Jules at his first science fair looking like the world's tiniest professor?—"
"We're done with photos," Julian says firmly.
"We've barely started!"
Rebecca settles beside them, pointing to one image. "Oh, that's when you won the regional spelling bee aged seven."
"Mom. Please."
"You were so serious. Standing there in your little tie?—"
"I was representing the school. Professional attire was appropriate."
