Cal's frown deepens into concern.
Etienne sets down his coffee cup, his expression shifting into that look I am starting to recognize as his worried face.
"Mae," he says slowly. "If you do not mind me asking... where did you used to live? Before coming here?"
I pause mid-bite, considering the question.
Do I tell them? Do I explain the whole pathetic situation? The late bloomer rejection, the disownment, the years ofscraping by on nothing while my mother pretends I do not exist except when she needs to marry me off?
They are going to find out eventually. Might as well rip off the bandage and see how they react.
"It was like a communal space," I say, setting down the bagel. "Not a hostel exactly. More like housing specifically for Omegas who are late bloomers and have been rejected, I guess. By society. By their families. By everyone who was supposed to care about them but decided they were not worth the investment."
I shrug, trying to make it sound more casual than it feels, like I am describing the weather instead of years of struggle.
"You know how it is. Present late, and suddenly you are damaged goods. Not worth the investment of a proper upbringing. My parents decided I was not worth keeping around until I presented at twenty-one, so I got shipped off to fend for myself until they could figure out what to do with me. The communal housing was cheap. The other Omegas there were in similar situations. We looked out for each other when we could. Shared food when we had extra. Covered each other when rent was due."
Cal and Etienne are both frowning now, identical expressions of concern and quiet anger on their faces. The kind of anger that is not directed at me but at the situation, at the world that created it.
Heavy footsteps announce Rafe's arrival before he appears in the kitchen doorway, freshly showered and dressed in his uniform. His dark hair is still damp, pushed back from his face in a way that makes his features look sharper. More severe. More judgmental.
"Well, that is stupid," he says flatly, having clearly caught the tail end of the conversation.
I look up at him, waiting for elaboration.
"Living in some communal dump for rejected Omegas." He crosses his arms, his storm-gray eyes dismissive and cold. "Might as well have been homeless. At least then you would have had your dignity instead of taking handouts from people who pity you."
The words land like a slap across the face.
Cal curses under his breath, sharp and angry.
"Come on, Rafe. Do not be an ass this morning. She does not need your commentary on her living situation. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
But the damage is done.
I stare at Rafe, feeling the warmth from Etienne's kindness drain away like water through cupped hands. Replaced by cold, familiar hurt. The same hurt I have carried for years. The same shame that whispers I am not enough, have never been enough, will never be enough for anyone.
Might as well have been homeless.
At least then you would have had your dignity.
Taking handouts from people who pity you.
Is that what Etienne's breakfast was? Pity? Another handout from someone who feels sorry for the pathetic Omega who cannot take care of herself?
I do not say anything.
There is nothing to say.
Nothing I could say would make a difference. Nothing would change his opinion or erase the truth in his words. I was living on pity. I was surviving on scraps. And no amount of defensive justification will change that.
I pick up my coffee. Pick up my bagel. Grab my bag from where I dropped it by the table.
"Mae?" Etienne's voice is concerned, worried, reaching toward me like a hand I cannot take. "Where are you going? You did not finish eating."
I do not answer.
I do not look at any of them.
