Mate’s Deception, Luna’s Defiance

After returning home from the pack’s maternity center with my newborn, I was greeted at the door by a young nanny whose demeanor felt more suited to a Luna than a caregiver. She quickly directed me to the dining table for lunch. As she served Romeo, the former Beta of the Silver Moon Pack, a bowl of stew, my baby’s cries interrupted the moment. With a sharp tone, she addressed me:

“The pup’s crying. Shouldn’t you be tending to her instead of sitting here?”

“Isn’t this what you should know as a new mother?”

Her words left me simmering with anger, but Romeo simply accepted the stew, adding impatiently:

“Why let her cry when you could attend to her? Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

“Having a pup doesn’t mean the world revolves around you.”

***

Cocooned in the hospital blanket, I crossed our front door and was taken aback by the sight of the young nanny. Confused, I looked at Romeo, who grinned as he slipped on his house slippers, saying:

“I spent thirty grand on this highly educated nanny for you. She’s all about scientific pup care.”

“Mina graduated with a nursing degree from a prestigious university—far better than those who undergo short training courses.”

“Trust me, love, this month will be unforgettable.”

His self-satisfied look implied I should be grateful. Stifling my irritation, I slipped into the disposable hotel slippers she had set out for me.

“Romeo, you guys came just in time. The beef stew I’ve been perfecting for three hours is ready.”

“You must try it; it’s my masterpiece.”

A sweet voice carried from the kitchen as the nanny emerged, dressed in my luxury pajamas and slippers, looking immaculate. Upon noticing me, she momentarily paused, then said coldly:

“Oh, you’re back. I’m occupied with meal preparation, so you’ll need to handle the pup yourself.”

“You can feed her and change a diaper, right? Heard your mother did everything at the maternity center, so you must know.”

Instant anger surged, but before I could respond, Romeo motioned her back to the kitchen:

“Mina, carry on with the cooking.”

“I’ll manage here.”

He took the pup from me and suggested I rest in the bedroom. Once the door was closed, I let my frustration spill out:

“Romeo, is this nanny even qualified?”

“Why’s she wearing my clothes?”

“Shouldn’t she be focusing on our child?”

Romeo, unperturbed, replied: “The weather turned chilly, so I lent her those clothes.”

“She’s cooking for your recovery, which is important.”

“You need to stop overthinking. You’ve been consumed by too many pack dramas.”

“Focus on recuperating and caring for the pup. That’s the priority.”

“Would I spend so much on a nanny if I didn’t care for you?”

I chuckled without humor, nodding in agreement. He had a point. It’s better to stay away from screens after childbirth—those melodramatic pack plots can certainly stir one’s imagination.

As mealtime neared, it made sense for the nanny to prepare food rather than juggling the pup and cooking simultaneously. I brushed aside the absurd notions swirling in my mind and concentrated on tending to the pup.

Just as I settled down, the door swung open. Mina entered, teary-eyed, appealing to Romeo:

“Romeo, I burned my hand. Could you help with some ointment? It really hurts.”

Romeo glanced at our daughter, still feeding, and searched through the first-aid kit:

“Love, I’ll just swiftly help Mina with her burn.”

He led her out, murmuring:

“How on earth did you manage to burn yourself making stew?”

“Oh, I just wanted it to be special for you,” she giggled flirtatiously, resting against him as they left the room, engaging in light banter.

Was I letting my imagination run wild?

Mina had only arrived today; surely nothing could have developed so quickly. Maybe it was my postpartum hormones amplifying my doubts. My daughter was newly born, and Romeo owed his current lifestyle to me. Why would he jeopardize that?