Chapter 135: Sana's Decision

Sana came to see me without Noah. That made me nervous. She was calm. "I want to ask you something as his mother, not as a former Alpha." Dangerous opening.

She and Noah had decided they wanted a child. They understood the genetic risk. They had chosen natural conception with early medical monitoring. Noah was still afraid. Sana wanted to know whether his fear came from the marker or from our family's history.

"Both," I said. No need to protect him from an accurate answer. Moon Crown had made bloodline questions emotionally radioactive for us. Noah's scientific knowledge made him capable of imagining every possible outcome. Neither meant his fear was irrational.

Sana asked whether I thought they were making the wrong decision. Again, I refused. "I think you're making an informed decision." "That's not the same thing." "No." There were choices without guaranteed correctness.

She smiled. "That's what Noah said you'd say." My children knew me too well.

Months later, Sana became pregnant. Noah transformed into the most anxious researcher alive. He tried not to analyze every test personally. Evelyn, now mostly retired, threatened to ban him from medical portals. I supported her.

Their daughter was born healthy. They named her Mira. Not after our Mira, they insisted. Our Mira claimed otherwise. The genetic marker was present. So far, no symptoms. Information. Not destiny.

Noah held his daughter like she was made of light. I recognized the terror in his eyes. Every parent discovered a new category of helplessness. "You okay?" "No." Good answer. Then he smiled. "Yes." Also true.

I looked at baby Mira and felt no urge to predict her wolf, intelligence, career, or future health. She had inherited genes. She had not inherited instructions. Her life would unfold beyond every chart Noah could build.

When I held her, she gripped my finger. Another generation. Not a dynasty. Not a breeding line. A baby. I whispered the same promise we had given Lyra and Noah. Shelter. Truth. Freedom.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.

By then I understood that a life was not completed by one perfect ending. It kept asking us to choose again: how to love without owning, how to remember without living backward, and how to let the people we loved become different from what we had imagined. That was harder than destiny, but it was also more honest.