The day began with clouds. Not stormy, but thick and pale like the sky had wrapped itself in a soft gray blanket. The pack house was quiet—peaceful in a way Scottland was still learning to trust.
She stood barefoot on the wooden floor of her room, wrapped in one of Grant's oversized flannel shirts. It draped off one shoulder, the sleeves too long, and she loved it that way. She traced her fingers along the fabric of the shirt, still warm from sleep, still smelling of pine and the safety that only Grant could give her.
The mirror across the room caught her eye.
She stepped toward it slowly.
She used to avoid mirrors. For years, she wouldn't even glance at one. Now she stood in front of it, chin high, breathing soft.
Her hair was loose and brushed. Her eyes—still the same pale, stormy blue—met her reflection not with fear, but curiosity. Who was this girl, this young woman standing taller than she had months ago? Stronger?
Scottland didn't fully know. But she was learning. That counted.
A knock on the door pulled her gently from her thoughts.
"Come in," she said, wrapping the shirt tighter around herself.
The door opened to reveal Grant, his hair slightly tousled, blue eyes warm and steady. He paused when he saw her, the corner of his mouth tilting upward.
"You always look at me like you're memorizing something," she teased, tilting her head.
"I am," he replied simply. "Every version of you. Every moment."
Her heart fluttered.
He crossed the room and handed her a small box. "A gift."
She blinked. "It's not a special day."
Grant's lips twitched. "Do I need an excuse?"
Carefully, Scottland opened the box. Inside was a delicate chain bracelet. Small charms dangled from it—each one representing something she recognized instantly. A tiny moon. A miniature book. A soft feather. A pine tree.
She traced the feather charm, breath catching. "This… these are all pieces of me."
Grant nodded. "I watched you choose them one by one. I just wanted you to know I see them too."
Emotion tightened her throat. She looked up at him, eyes shining. "Thank you."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then whispered against her skin, "You're not just healing, Scottland. You're living. And I'm honored to witness every step."
Later that morning, the Omega girls gathered again in the common room. This time, there was no meeting or circle—just quiet activities: some braided each other's hair, others read, two played a board game spread across the rug.
Scottland sat near the tall window, cross-legged on the floor, helping a younger girl named Evie color a picture of a forest.
Evie pressed the green crayon hard into the page, brow furrowed.
"What do you think the trees are thinking?" Scottland asked gently.
Evie paused. "They're whispering secrets to each other."
"Oh yeah?" Scottland smiled. "What kind of secrets?"
"About where the birds go at night," Evie whispered.
Scottland laughed softly. "That's a very good secret."
Evie beamed and went back to coloring.
Scottland looked around the room. No one flinched when someone laughed too loud. No one asked permission to sit. There was still tension in some shoulders, yes—but also lightness that hadn't been there before.
Wren entered a moment later with news.
"There's a family arriving today," she said, drawing everyone's attention. "An Omega mother and her three pups. They're from the outer territories. Grant said they'll be staying in the guest wing until we find them a place nearby."
The room hushed.
Scottland stood, nodding. "We'll make sure they feel welcome. They're walking into the unknown—just like we all did."
Wren stepped closer. "Do you want to meet them first?"
Scottland hesitated only a second. "Yes."
When the van pulled up that afternoon, Scottland stood at the edge of the driveway, flanked by Wren and Clara. Her hands were steady. Her heartbeat was not.
The Omega who stepped out was younger than she expected—maybe late twenties, with tired eyes and a strong chin. She held a toddler on her hip while a boy and girl, both under ten, climbed out after her, clinging to the sides of her coat.
Scottland stepped forward slowly, crouching so she'd be at the children's level.
"Hi," she said softly. "Welcome."
The girl peeked out from behind her mother. "Are you nice here?"
Scottland nodded. "We try very hard to be."
The little boy frowned. "You don't have an Alpha voice."
Scottland smiled gently. "That's because I'm an Omega—just like your mama."
He blinked. "You don't look scared."
"No," she said. "Not anymore."
That night, the family joined them for dinner. The mother, whose name was Elise, barely spoke, her shoulders tense the entire time. But her children slowly opened—helped by Evie, who handed them crayons, and Lila, who made space at the table.
Scottland watched it all from her spot beside Grant. She didn't try to lead every moment. She didn't hover.
She witnessed.
And it was enough.
After the children were asleep and the house began to quiet, Scottland found Grant on the back porch, sitting with a mug of tea and his head tilted to the stars.
She slipped into the seat beside him.
"Do you think it'll ever get easier?" she asked after a while.
Grant didn't answer right away. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. "I think it already has. A little."
She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes I worry I'll never be strong enough for all of this."
"You already are."
"But what if I break again?"
Grant turned to her then, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I'll be there. Every time. With whatever you need. Your strength doesn't have to look like mine, Scottland. It's softer. Quieter. But it's just as fierce."
Tears stung her eyes. "I still get scared."
"That's not weakness," he said. "That's humanity."
She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "What if they don't need me one day?"
He smiled faintly. "Then you've done your job perfectly."
They sat in silence after that, the fireflies blinking around them, the night folding softly over the world.
In Grant's arms, Scottland felt the weight of the day settle—and it didn't crush her.
It cradled her.
And for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like she had to prove anything to anyone. Not even to herself.