He Named His Dad's First Love as Mom

The magnetic clasp snapped open.

The sharp sound echoed against the vanity mirror. The plastic badge popped free and dropped heavy into my palm. I ran my thumb over the raised letters of my maiden name. Dahlia Reyes.

I stood up from the velvet stool. The floorboards creaked under my bare feet as I walked to the closet. My black wool coat hung on the back of the door. I slipped my hand inside the pocket, pulled out a safety pin, and secured the badge deep inside the silk lining.

Dawn broke grey and freezing. I pulled a single leather suitcase from the top shelf of my closet. I did not take any of the designer dresses Marcus bought for pack events. I did not take the jewelry he gifted me after his affairs.

I packed three tailored suits, two silk blouses, and my toothbrush. One bag.

Today marked my return to the office. I had hidden this job for five years, slipping away for meetings when Marcus went on hunting trips. Today, I was going back for good.

I zipped the suitcase shut. The metal zipper whined in the quiet room. I grabbed the handle and walked out.

I rolled the suitcase down the carpeted hallway. The small wheels squeaked against the floorboards. As I neared Ezra's bedroom, his door sat cracked open.

"Are you kidding?" Ezra's voice leaked into the hall, bright and arrogant.

"They reject Alphas all the time, man," a muffled voice replied from his phone speaker. "My brother got waitlisted last year."

"Your brother isn't me," Ezra said. "Of course I'm getting in. My mom is a Lockhart. Solid bloodline."

"Did she write your essay?" the friend asked.

"She's handling the whole application," Ezra laughed. "She knows half the board members anyway. No weak links in my file. I'm not bringing a human failure into my interview."

My hand stopped over his brass doorknob.

My chest tightened. A dull ache spread behind my ribs. Eighteen years of raising him. Eighteen years of bandaging his scraped knees, of fighting Marcus to let him play lacrosse instead of training with the guard.

"Yeah, Lola knows the board," Ezra continued. "It's a done deal. I'll get my acceptance letter next week."

My fingers hovered a half-inch from the metal. The chill radiated against my knuckles. I let my hand drop to my side.

I didn't push the door open. I grabbed my suitcase handle and kept walking.

I reached the foyer. The front door stood ten feet away.

"Leaving so soon?"

Lola leaned against the archway of the living room, blocking the exit. She held a steaming ceramic mug. She wore one of Marcus's oversized flannel shirts. The plaid sleeves swallowed her wrists, exposing a fresh bite mark on her neck.

"Move, Lola," I said.

She didn't budge. She took a slow sip of her coffee, her lips curving upward. "You finally figured it out. Good for you."

I kept my grip on my suitcase. "Step aside."

"Marcus said you'd sign the papers eventually," Lola said. "Took you long enough to realize you don't belong here."

She reached out with the toe of her slipper and nudged a pile of my belongings sitting by the coat rack. She pushed them directly into a thick black garbage bag gaping open on the floor.

Inside sat my old pack registry files and a framed photo of my father.

A sliver of cold light caught my eye.

The silver moon crown.

The exact one Marcus had lifted from my head three nights ago. Its delicate arches were tangled in a mass of discarded junk mail, sticking halfway out of the plastic bag.

"Marcus said we needed to clear out the clutter," Lola smiled, her eyes tracking my gaze. "Make room for the new era."

I stared at the crown. The silver looked dull against the trash.

I didn't reply. I didn't defend my legacy or demand she pick it up. I simply tightened my grip on my suitcase, walked right past her, and shoved my shoulder through the doorway.

I stepped out into the freezing morning air and let the heavy oak door slam shut behind me.

The matte-black sedan sat in the driveway, coated in a thin layer of morning frost. I tossed my suitcase onto the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, blasting heat into the freezing cabin.

I popped open the glove compartment.

Beneath the vehicle registration, an old map, and a stack of napkins lay a folded, yellowing document. I pulled it out and spread it across the steering wheel.

The official Laurelmont Academy letterhead stared back at me. Dated exactly five years ago today.

We are pleased to offer you the position of Educational Consultant.

I traced the signature at the bottom. Five years of working under my maiden name. I entered their administrative system as a human education expert. Three years later, the board promoted me to Chair of the Admissions Committee.

Marcus thought I spent my days shopping or crying in my room. He never once asked where I went every morning. He never cared to check.

I folded the letter and tucked it into my blazer pocket. I shifted the car into drive.

My tires crunched over the gravel driveway. Just as I turned onto the main road, the dashboard screen lit up. An incoming call chimed through the car's speakers.

I tapped the accept button on the steering wheel.

"Speak," I said.

"Chair," Priya's voice filled the cabin, crisp and professional.

"Apologies for the early call, Priya," I said. "I am on my way to the office now."

"I know you usually don't take calls before eight," Priya said. "But I am reviewing the final batch of applications before the board meeting."

"Are we missing transcripts?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the winding road.

"No, the transcripts are verified. It is candidate number three."

"Flagged for what?"

"Discrepancies in the pack lineage forms," Priya said, her voice dropping a fraction. "And the last name is Vance—"

Priya stopped, her sudden silence hanging heavy over the line.