This was alwaysthe right thing to do, I thought, as I watched the Beta mother slowly move around what had once been my childhood bedroom.
She didn’t seem to trust her surroundings, touching things tentatively, as if she waited for it all to shimmer out of focus.
I stood in the doorway, chest tight with emotion. I was feeling too much; it was almost overwhelming. Not quite sadness or happiness. Something in between, something that damaged and healed simultaneously.
The mother picked up a pillow, fluffing it a little. She smiled down at it. I knew that feeling—relishing softness after so much hardness. The little boy was sleepy, swooning on his feet as he yawned. His mother scooped him up after setting the pillow back on the bed. She tucked him beneath the sheets, moving to get something out of her ripped satchel. A threadbare blanket, its color faded to gray from what I suspect was once baby blue.
The Fortune Estate wasn't the Fortune Estate anymore. My childhood home had been transformed into the Fortune Memorial Shelter. The grand staircase still curved up to the second floor, but now feet of all sizes traveled its path. The crystal chandelier still hung in the foyer, but itilluminated backpacks and donated coats instead of imported floral arrangements. The kitchen, once flowing with catered food, now had a pantry packed with jars of peanut butter and jelly. Sandwich bread. Crackers. Endless chocolate chip cookies and apple sauce cups for the kids.
"Is there anything else you need?" I asked softly, not wanting to intrude as they came to terms with the reality of this place—that they were safe, off the streets, no longer scrounging.
The mother looked up, her eyes still carrying that haunted wariness I recognized all too well. She was waiting for the catch, waiting for this kindness to be yanked away.
God, what if I was still homeless right now but also pregnant too? She could be me. I could be her.
Protectively, I placed my right hand on my stomach. I was just starting to show, belly beginning to round. My Alphas and I were waiting to be surprised at the birth, because we truly didn’t care. We were just so excited, and had about a dozen names picked out. That was going to be the hardest part… picking the right one.
“Please tell me if I can get you anything. Honestly, I don’t mind.” I really wanted her to know it was okay to ask for something. To need something. To even want something.
"No, thank you. This is... more than enough." She didn’t want to push her luck. For a moment, I spiraled.
Don’t be too needy. Don’t ask for too much. Just hope for enough to get by.
Her son, who I’d thought would fall deeply asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, sat up clutching his blanket. He blinked slowly, peering at me from behind his mother.
“I’m hungry,” he said in the way children do, even when the situation was dire. Hopeful, and so willing to accept kindness because they’re not completely jaded yet.
“There’s always food in this house,” I told him. The way he smiled at my words, so innocent and excited, choked me up. This was worth it. I’d do whatever necessary to make sure the trust never ran out.
I'd spent most of my family's recovered assets creating this place.Mister Johnas and his partners were gobsmacked when I’d walked in and told them my plan.
“Why would you waste your fortune like that? What about your family’s legacy?” I don’t remember which partner asked. It didn’t matter.
“How is helping people a waste? Why can’t this be our legacy?” I’d countered, shaming him.
So here we were, the Fortune assets secured in the Fortune Memorial Trust, a manager assigned to manage investments and keep the coffers full, and a body in every bedroom of the mansion.
This could never be a waste. This was what the world needed—shelter for the weary and lost, not another wealthy billionaire keeping things for herself, like she could take cash with her when she croaked.
I held my hand out to the little boy. He jumped out of the bed—tossing back the covers, dropping his blanket, and beelining for me. Suddenly wide awake. His mother gently scolded. I just smiled at her. She wasn’t angry with him for being energetic, I could see as much on her face. She wanted him calm, so they wouldn’t risk their place here. But I could also tell how relieved she was to see her little boy happy.
We strolled out of the room together. His mother walked closely behind us.
I'd seen the other side of security, felt what it was like when the ground disappeared beneath your feet. I knew what it was to be invisible, to have people look through you rather than at you. How many times had I gone to Seattle Saints hoping for a bed? Just to be turned away…
No one deserved that. No one should have to live like I had—wondering each night where they’d sleep, wondering if each meal might be their only one that day, wondering if they’d get to shower that week.
"There’s a bathroom on this hall," I explained as we traveled, pointing at the door as we passed it. "Towels are in the cabinet, and there's shampoo and soap in the shower. If it’s occupied, there’s two more on this level. Two and a half downstairs. Breakfast starts at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at six. I’ll be here for a few more days, before my staff take over.”
The Beta walked a little faster, catching up to us so she could standon the other side of her boy. He held his hand up to her, and suddenly we were like a little family moving through the mansion.
“Oh, and if you’re ever hungry between meals, there’s a special snack pantry in the kitchen. It’s always unlocked; we just ask that you don’t take more than you need. It’s resupplied weekly though.”
The little boy was humming happily.
The mother was quiet.
I glanced over, seeing her nod slowly, repeatedly. A single tear tracked down her cheek as she straightened her shoulders, visibly trying to stay strong. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
