Chapter 141: Chapter 141
"Then you look stupid." Christian squeezed my hand. "We’re all learning together."
The first class was both helpful and humiliating. Diana demonstrated baby care techniques using a doll. I fumbled the swaddling blanket like five times while Christian got it perfect on his first try.
"Show off," I muttered.
Emma from the sanctuary leaned over. "Nobody gets swaddling right until you have a real squirmy baby. Don’t worry about it."
That made me feel better.
The baby supply shopping trip was a disaster.
Christian and I walked into the massive baby store and immediately froze. Seventeen types of bottles. Hundreds of clothing options. Car seats that looked like they required engineering degrees.
A sales associate tried to help, throwing around terms like "travel systems," "convertible car seats," and "wipe warmers."
"Do we need a wipe warmer?" I whispered to Christian.
"I don’t even know what that is."
After an hour of overwhelming confusion, we sat down in the nursing area to regroup.
"Okay." I pulled out Diana’s list. "Let’s just get the absolute essentials. Ignore everything else."
We simplified to the basics: clothes, a car seat, bottles, diapers, and bathing supplies. No fancy gadgets. No unnecessary stuff. Just what we’d need in the first few weeks.
That approach actually worked. We checked out with manageable purchases and escaped before the store could swallow us whole.
That night, Christian started a new routine. He placed his hand on my stomach—which was finally showing a small bump at fourteen weeks—and talked to the baby.
"Hey there," he said softly. "It’s your dad. I built you a changing table today. Your mom thinks I’m crazy for building everything myself, but I want you to have things made with love."
I ran my fingers through his hair, listening to him talk about his day, about how excited the pack was, and about how loved this baby already was.
My heart felt too big for my chest.
One afternoon, I sat in the nursery surrounded by baby books and supplies. The sage green walls were dry now, the trim painted cream. Christian’s handmade furniture was slowly filling the space.
I realized something had shifted. I was still nervous about becoming a mom, but the excitement outweighed the fear now. I could imagine holding our baby, teaching them to read, and watching Christian be a father.
I felt ready. Not because I knew what I was doing, but because I knew we’d figure it out together.
That evening, while we organized tiny baby clothes, Christian went quiet.
"What’s wrong?" I asked.
"I’ve been thinking about my childhood." His voice was tight. "My father was distant. Focused on Alpha duties. I felt more like an heir than a son."
I put down the onesie I was folding and moved closer.
"Our child will never feel that way." Christian’s eyes were fierce. "They’ll grow up surrounded by love. They’ll know I’m there as their father, not just as Alpha. I promise you that."
"I know." I touched his face. "You’re already an amazing dad, and the baby isn’t even here yet."
He pulled me close, his hand settling over my bump.
Late that night, we lay in bed talking about the future. What life would be like in a year with a baby. Sleepless nights and first smiles and tiny clothes.
"I’ll teach them to shift," Christian said quietly. "When they’re ready. If they can shift."
"I’ll read them bedtime stories. Kiss their scraped knees." I smiled in the darkness. "It’s going to be chaos, isn’t it?"
"Absolute chaos." He kissed my forehead. "But we’ve got each other. And the pack. We’ll be okay."
Two weeks later, Christian finished the crib. I found him in the garage, standing back and examining his work with satisfaction.
The crib was beautiful—solid wood, carefully crafted, with small wolves carved into the headboard.
"Christian." I ran my hand over the smooth wood. "It’s perfect."
We carried it upstairs together and set it up in the nursery. Suddenly the room looked real. Like a baby would actually live here soon.
The next day, I was sitting in the rocking chair Christian had built, reading about werewolf development, when I felt something strange.
A flutter in my stomach. Like bubbles or butterfly wings.
I went completely still. Waited.
There it was again. Movement. The baby was moving.
"Christian!" My voice came out shaky.
He rushed into the nursery, alarmed. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing’s wrong." Tears filled my eyes. "Give me your hand."
I placed his hand on my stomach, and we both held perfectly still.
Then his eyes went wide. That tiny flutter of movement beneath his palm.
"Is that—" His voice cracked.
"That’s our baby."
Christian’s face transformed with wonder, tears filling his eyes. We sat together in the nursery, his hand on my belly, feeling our baby move for the first time.
"Hi there," Christian whispered to my stomach. "We felt you. We know you’re in there."
I was crying too, overwhelmed by the reality of it all. We’d created a life. A tiny person who was moving and growing and would soon be here.
Christian kissed my forehead, then my stomach. "I love you both so much."
"We love you too."
We stayed like that for a long time, feeling the occasional flutter of movement, talking quietly about names and futures and all the love we had waiting for this baby.
Everything else—the threatening message, the Council challenges, all the difficulties we’d faced—none of it mattered in this moment.
We had each other. We had our pack family. And soon we’d have our baby.
I’d never felt more at peace or happier.
