But this dress?
It feels like it was made by someone who’s never even met an omega. The lining itches, the bodice digs, and the zipper bites like it has something personal against me.
On the other side of the curtain, mother’s voice floats in.
“You know, your fathers are coming to your ceremony next week. They’re very excited to see you receive your certification.”
I bristle. It’s not a certification. It’s adegree. But I don’t say that out loud.
“Daniel booked a photographer for after the ceremony,” she continues, “and William wants us all to go out for dinner afterward. Ken even picked up a special gift for you.”
I pause, fingers freezing on the zipper. My chest tightens. Not with excitement but with dread.
She keeps talking, oblivious. “Bobby won’t be able to make it, unfortunately. Your poor brother has been swamped with work lately, poor thing, but he told me to give you his love.”
Some of the tension in my chest lifts. Bobby not coming is the only relief in this entire mess. He and I were never that close.
“So…” I swallow hard. “Keniscoming?” My voice sounds so small. I hate it.
There’s a brief silence on the other side of the curtain. Just long enough to make my heart stutter.
“Of course,” she says, too lightly. “He wouldn’t misssomething like this.” Her voice drops to a hush. Soft and embarrassed, like the walls might judge her for saying it aloud. “I know you and Ken have had…your differences,” she murmurs. “Especially after you accused him of all that horrible stuff. But he’s forgiven you, Tansy. Truly. And it’s time we all moved past it.”
My hands go still.
Forgivenme?
A cold, hollow numbness spreads through my chest, settling behind my ribs like a stone dropped into water. Mother sounds almost relieved as she keeps talking about forgiveness and love—like the whole sordid mess was an inconvenience she can now neatly tuck away. Like she didn’t spend years accusing me of lying. Like she wasn’tgladwhen they were able to ship me off to Danvers the second I turned thirteen, so they could all go on with their lives, pretending nothing ever happened.
But I live with it every day.
She never once believed me. Not then. Not now.
She pauses before adding, with a prim little sniff, “And don’t call him Ken, Tansy. He’s your father.”
My fingers curl around the fabric at my ribs. The room suddenly feels too tight. Too bright. The blue dress constricts like a fist around my lungs. Before I can collect myself, Mother yanks the curtain back.
“Tansy, honestly,” she huffs, frowning at me like I’ve done something wrong. “You’re taking ages. Let me see.”
The sudden intrusion knocks the air out of me. I jerk back a step, but she either doesn’t notice the look on my face…or pretends not to.
Typical.
She grips my wrist anddragsme out of the dressingroom and toward the large wall of mirrors, her kitten heels tapping briskly across the polished floor.
“There,” she announces, spinning me to face my reflection. “This one ismuchbetter for your shape.” The way she says it feels like an insult. “Maybe now that you’re done with this little art project of yours, you can finally focus on finding a pack.” Her gaze skims my waist, my hips, my chest. Assessing, adjusting, correcting. Like I’m an unruly garment in need of tailoring rather than her only daughter. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll get too old, and no one will want you.”
I simply don't have the energy to react to that.
A young shop attendant materializes beside us, all happy smiles and polished professionalism. “Oh, that looks lovely on you,” the beta gushes, clasping her hands. “The cut really flatters your frame.”
Mother preens a little, as if the compliment belongs toher.
“This one is much better,” Mother agrees, “but I’m hoping to find something more appropriate.” Her gaze moves over the fabric pulled across my chest again, thin-lipped.
I can’t help but hate her right now.
Mother has always been stick-thin—petite, delicate, the perfect model of what an omega issupposedto be. And she hates how different I am compared to her. Even now, even in public, she can’t stop herself from those little pinpricks.
