"Because," Margaret Ashford says, joining us, "you gave yourself to them privately. They wanted to give themselves to you publicly."
I turn to my pack. All three watching me with identical expressions, love and pride and fierce certainty.
"You'll see," Tyler promises.
"After dinner," Julian adds.
"For now," Calder says, hand finding mine, "let's just be with family."
The formal dining room twinkles with fairy lights and candles, the hearth draped with holly and ivy and plump red ribbons. A gold runner lines the middle of the table, the centerpiece a holly wreath threaded with gold.
I'm seated at the center of one long side. Calder on my left, Tyler on my right, Julian across from me. Families interspersed around the table, Mira beside Julian, the Vales near Tyler, the Crosses near Calder. Margaret and Robert anchoring the ends. Marcus, Seraphina, and Lila filling in the spaces.
Once again, we eat multiple courses, food that melts on the tongue, all of which I’m too excited to remember.
I listen to Mira and Margaret sharing stories about their children with mutual understanding and growing respect.
Catherine, Rebecca, and Margaret form an unlikely trio, comparing notes on raising alphas.
"Julian sends money home," Rebecca says. "Even though I tell him not to."
"Tyler calls every Sunday without fail," Catherine adds. "Like clockwork."
"Calder remembers every birthday, every anniversary," Margaret contributes. "Even distant relatives."
They're connecting over their sons' peculiarities and virtues, finding solidarity in being pack mothers.
Across the table, Pen and Maya are chattering like sisters, comparing notes on omega experiences, gymnastics versus school activities, plans for the future.
"Have you presented yet?" Maya asks.
"Not yet," Pen admits. "I’m nervous about it."
"Elowen will help," Maya assures her. "She helped me understand so much. She's the best."
"I know." Pen grins at me across the table. "I got lucky. Two sisters now. You and Maya."
Something warm lodges in my chest. Sisters. Plural. Family expanding in ways I never imagined.
The fathers—Robert, Thomas, and Marcus—have formed their own alliance, discussing books and philosophy and the changing nature of pack dynamics.
"Unconventional," Robert observes. "But strong."
"Strength comes from choice," Marcus says firmly. "Not tradition."
"I'm learning that," Robert replies, glancing at his son with something like pride.
Throughout dinner, I keep catching Mira's eyes. She's watching everything with quiet satisfaction, occasionally touching the protection herbs she still wears on a cord around her neck.
When dessert arrives, she raises her glass.
"To my granddaughter," she says loud and clear. "Who chose her own path, as Rowans always have. And to the alphas who chose her back." She looks at Calder, Tyler, Julian. "Thank you for loving her well."
"To Elowen," everyone echoes, glasses raised.
I'm crying. I can't help it. Overwhelmed by love and family and belonging.
After dinner, we gather in the drawing room.
