Chapter 84
It was the morning after our confrontation with Andrew, and the tension still clung to me like a second skin. I sat at the breakfast table, swirling my coffee absentmindedly while watching Jake as he juggled a bottle in one hand and rocked one of the babies with the other. Despite the anxiety simmering beneath the surface, the sight of him in full “Dad mode” brought a smile to my lips. He looked up, catching my gaze, and flashed me a lopsided grin.
"Hey," he said, his voice soft. "You look like you're carrying the weight of the world, Priscilla."
I forced a smile. "Maybe just half of it," I replied. "I've been thinking about what happened last night."
Jake’s expression darkened, but before he could respond, Fatima burst into the kitchen, her face lit with an idea so bright it was practically glowing.
"I’ve got it!” she declared, dropping into a chair beside me.
"Got what?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"A plan," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I was up half the night thinking about it. If we go to Jake with what we found out about Andrew, it'll only confirm everyone’s fears. But we can fight this from a different angle."
Jake frowned, clearly curious but slightly wary. "What are you planning, Fatima?"
Fatima turned to me, a spark in her eyes. "We start with the women."
"The women?" I repeated, confused.
She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, the women. If we win them over, their husbands and families will follow. Women are the heart of this pack. They may not be the loudest voices, but they’re the ones who make things happen behind the scenes. They control the kitchen gossip, the child-rearing wisdom, the fabric of everyday life. We need to show them who you are, Priscilla. Not as the Luna or the mother of hybrid babies, but as one of them. As a woman who wants the best for this pack."
Jake chuckled, bouncing our daughter gently in his arms. "You might be onto something, Fatima. I've seen it before—a strong group of women can change the entire tide of the pack’s mood."
I laughed, feeling a small wave of relief wash over me. "So we infiltrate their tea parties and playdates," I mused with a smile. "We win their hearts with baked goods and baby tips."
Jake smiled back, watching me with a mix of amusement and love. But then he stood up, carefully shifting the babies into his arms. "Sounds like a good plan, but I think it’s my turn to handle these two." He gave me a wink. "You’ve got this. I’ll be back in a bit."
I smiled back, watching him leave the room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Fatima leaned in, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I think we need to move fast. The women are the key to this," she said. "Jake doesn’t know what we’re planning yet, and that’s fine. Let’s get to work."
I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over me, but also a flicker of hope. "Alright. Let’s do it."
\---
The next few days were a whirlwind. Fatima and I made a list of places we could visit and events we could join. It started with small things—showing up at the pack’s daycare center, volunteering to help with the children, chatting with the mothers who lingered at pickup time. I made sure to engage everyone, asking questions about their families, their concerns. I even took a few tips on handling the twins, which earned me a lot of laughs and knowing smiles.
“Try wrapping them up tighter,” one of the older women advised as she watched me struggle with swaddling. “Like little burritos.”
“I thought I was making them into little escape artists,” I joked, adjusting the blanket around my son.
Another woman, Sarah, laughed and handed me a better swaddle. “It gets easier,” she promised. “By the third kid, you’ll be able to do it with one hand.”
I winced playfully. “Let’s not rush to the third just yet.”
Fatima joined us, carrying a tray of homemade pastries. “I brought bribes,” she announced with a grin. “Help us win you over and you get first dibs on these.”
“Are they poisoned?” one of the mothers joked, eyeing us with mock suspicion.
“Only with love,” Fatima shot back.
The mood lightened, and I found myself relaxing. We moved from group to group, laughing, sharing stories, and listening. There was a shift in the air—subtle, but real. The women were warming up to me, and I could feel the icy walls beginning to melt.
\---
By the time the weekly sewing circle rolled around, Fatima had convinced me to join in. I’d never been much of a seamstress, but it seemed like a good opportunity to bond with more of the pack’s women.
“You’re stitching that like it’s a battlefield wound,” Fatima teased, leaning over to inspect my messy sewing.
I laughed. “It might as well be. I’m pretty sure I’ve sewn this button on backward.”
“Let me help,” a woman named Diane offered. She was older, with graying hair and a kind smile. She took the fabric from me and deftly reattached the button. “You’re doing just fine, Luna,” she said. “It’s nice to see you here.”
Her words warmed me more than I expected. “Thank you, Diane. It’s nice to be here.”
The conversation flowed naturally after that. We talked about the attack, but I noticed that the tone had shifted. It wasn’t accusatory or fearful. Instead, the women expressed concern for me and the babies. They asked how we were coping, and I answered honestly, letting them see my vulnerability.
“It must be hard,” Sarah said quietly, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Knowing that there are people who don’t accept your children.”
“It is,” I admitted, my voice raw with emotion. “But I’m not giving up. I love this pack, and I believe in it. I believe we can overcome this if we stand together.”
There was a murmur of agreement, and I felt a swell of hope. Maybe this was working. Maybe they were starting to see me as more than just the Luna.
\---
By the end of the week, Fatima and I had attended three more events—a cooking class, a self-defense training session (where I got hilariously outmatched by a tiny, fierce grandmother), and a book club meeting. At each event, the response was overwhelmingly positive.
“You were right, Fatima,” I said as we walked back to the house after the book club. “The women are warming up to us. I can feel it.”
Fatima grinned. “Of course I was right. The women of the pack hold more power than anyone gives them credit for. And once they’re on your side, their husbands and children will follow. You’ll see.”
We stopped at the edge of the forest, looking back at the bustling community center where we had just been. Several women waved at us, and I waved back, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face.
“You’ve got this, Priscilla,” Fatima said, squeezing my shoulder. “They’re starting to see you for who you are—a strong, kind, protective Luna. The kind of Luna they want leading them.”
I looked at her, grateful and a bit teary-eyed. “Thank you, Fatima. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please, I’m just here for the snacks and the drama.”
I laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. “Well, stick around. I have a feeling there’s plenty more drama to come.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Fatima quipped.
And as we walked back home, side by side, I felt a new kind of strength growing inside me. Maybe we couldn’t change everyone’s mind overnight, but we were making progress. One person, one conversation at a time, we were starting to turn the tide. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like we might actually have a chance.
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