"I just want this family to sit down and face reality."
Jace tossed my refusal form onto the kitchen island the next morning.
He did not know about the recording. He did not know I had heard him tell Nora he planned to use Ethan against me.
He only knew I had signed no.
"Reality is Nora documented the risks," I said. "I am not consenting to another extraction."
"Olivia may have seventy-two hours before her wolf collapses completely."
"Then spend those seventy-two hours looking for another donor."
Jace braced both hands on the marble. "There may not be another donor."
"May not be is not the same as isn't."
His jaw tightened.
Then his posture changed. The Alpha disappeared, replaced by the husband who used to sit beside me when my joints ached after the first donation.
"Come to one treatment briefing," he said quietly. "No signatures. No procedure. Just listen."
Through the doorway, I saw Ethan standing in the hall.
He was turning a silver training badge over and over in his fingers. Olivia had given it to him after his first successful control drill.
For the last eight months, whenever the aftereffects of my marrow donation left me feverish or exhausted, Olivia had stepped into the gaps. She trained him. Took him to practice. Showed up at school events I could not manage.
Piece by piece, she had become the exciting adult who arrived whenever I was too tired to be fun.
"Fine," I said. "I will attend. I am not agreeing to donate."
An hour later, we entered the clinic lounge.
Olivia sat curled in a corner chair, a blanket over her knees. The moonstone bracelet still circled her wrist.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"I'm here to hear medical options. Nothing more."
Nora had barely stepped out of her office when Olivia lurched forward.
Her shift marks, usually silver beneath her skin, faded to a sick gray. Her knees buckled.
Jace caught her before she hit the floor.
"Olivia!" Ethan screamed.
He grabbed my sleeve so hard the seam tore.
"Do something!"
Nora rushed over and checked Olivia's pulse. "Get a stretcher. Her condition is degrading faster than projected."
Two nurses moved quickly.
I noticed what Nora did not say.
She did not say my name.
She did not call me the only option.
Jace pulled a folded page from his coat and held it toward me. "Her private summary. Read the top line."
I did not take it.
The bold text was visible from where I stood.
No other available Silver Marrow donors.
"If she dies because you refuse," Jace asked, "can you live with that?"
Several nurses stopped moving.
I looked directly at him. "If I lose my wolf because I say yes, can you live with that? If I lose something else, can you?"
"You recovered last time."
The words landed harder than a slap.
"I spent eleven days unconscious."
"And you recovered. Nora can monitor you. We can manage the risk."
"No."
Ten minutes later, Olivia woke in a recovery room.
I stood in the hallway while Ethan hovered at her bedside.
"Don't force Mia," Olivia whispered, loud enough for every nurse near the door to hear. "If I don't shift again, promise me you won't blame anyone."
She held out her hand.
"Come here, sweet boy."
Ethan ran to her.
"Are you going to die?"
"I hope not." Olivia smiled weakly. "But your mom has her reasons."
She made my refusal sound like a private grievance while presenting herself as the gracious victim of it.
Ethan came into the corridor ten minutes later with red eyes and clenched fists.
"Are you letting her die because Dad spends time with her?"
He did not call me Mom.
I crouched to his height.
"This has nothing to do with your father's time."
"She helps me when you're too tired. She never complains."
"She did not give part of her marrow to keep you alive. I did."
"Then why can't you do it again?"
I pressed one hand against my abdomen. The pregnancy still belonged only to me and Nora.
"Because love is not measured by how much of your body you let other people take."
Ethan backed out of reach.
"You only care about your own family."
I stared at him.
"I am your family."
He turned and walked back into Olivia's room.
That evening, Jace placed a blue consultation folder beside my dinner plate.
"The final decision is yours," he said. "But read everything first."
"I already did."
"You gave an emotional answer."
"No is a complete answer."
Jace exhaled through his nose. "Her file says there are no alternatives."
"Search beyond Mooncrest. Call neighboring packs. Put out a regional request. Use pack money."
"We do not have time for an international donor hunt."
"You have time to keep circling me."
His expression darkened.
"Ethan has been crying for hours. He thinks the woman who helped him rebuild his confidence is dying while his mother refuses to help. Think about what this is doing to him."
There it was again.
Ethan.
The lever Jace had already admitted he planned to use.
I opened the regional donor directory on my phone while Jace watched. The public portal showed pending requests from three packs and a notice explaining that rare-marrow searches could be escalated through the Western Territories registry.
"Submit an emergency request there," I said, turning the screen toward him.
"That registry can take days to verify a match."
"Then start the clock now."
Jace stared at the page but did not take my phone.
That refusal told me his priority was not exhausting every option. His priority was convincing the option already standing in his kitchen.
I did not tell him I knew.
He grabbed his keys and left for the clinic.
The house went quiet.
I opened the blue folder and flipped past the risk assessments, donor history, consent forms, and treatment notes.
The last page was not medical guidance.
It was a room reservation.
Mooncrest Surgical Suite B.
Forty-eight hours from now.
Donor: Mia Arden.
The procedure had already been booked.
Only one field remained blank.
My signature.
