4. Benjamin

The front door clicks shut, leaving silence to settle over the house as Henry and Liam leave. I'm agitated and frustrated, and being away from Mia for so long, even though she is right here, has left me feeling empty inside. I push open the nursery door, my movements quiet, not wanting to disturb her.

I pause when I see Zara, tucked in the armchair with Mia nestled against her chest. Her voice is soft, a gentle melody that wraps around the room, soothing and sweet. I watch them, a lump forming in my throat. It's a simple scene, but it hits me like a ton of bricks. The kind of care and attention Mia's getting, the kind I never expected would come from anyone else after everything, breaks me just a bit more inside.

"Zara," I start, my voice rougher than I intend. "I can take over with Mia."

She looks up with a smile. "You should rest, Benjamin. I'm here now, and I've got her."

My jaw tightens. "I know it's your job, but she's my daughter. I don't need a rest from my own child."

Zara gives me a look, one that's all patience and no judgment, but it still makes something twist inside me. "It's not about needing a rest from her. It's about you getting the rest you need so you can be the best dad to Mia. We're doing great, so you can take some time to just chill."

I want to argue, to tell her she doesn't get it, that she can't possibly understand what it feels like to have someone you trust walk out on you—on your child. But the words stick in my throat, tangled up with the sight of my little girl resting peacefully in the arms of someone who isn't running away.

Yet.

Not wanting to argue in front of Mia, I turn on my heel without another word and head back to my room, the weight of the day pressing down on me, Zara's scent of lavender swirling all around me, making me ache with longing. Not for her, but for the time when I had my mate, and Mia had her mother.

I close the door behind me, leaning against it as if it could prop me up. My hands fumble with the baby monitor, its little green lights blinking up at me. I set it on the bedside cabinet, the soft hum of its static, a thread connecting me to Mia, to the piece of my world nestled safely in Zara's arms.

I collapse onto the bed, my body sinking into the mattress. The exhaustion washes over me, tugging me under, but I resist the pull of sleep as I stare at the ceiling, thoughts racing and my heart aching. The dim glow of the baby monitor cast shadows across my room as I try to quiet my mind, but the memories come anyway—images of her walking away, leaving us, leaving Mia, our little girl who needs her mum and got stuck with just me instead.

I know Zara is good with her. I can see that with my own eyes, but trying to find comfort in the thought feels like a betrayal, like I'm passing my daughter off to a stranger. I know I'm being unfair to Zara, that she's only here to help, but the hurt is like a broken bone that never set right. It makes me lash out when I don't mean to and makes me say things sharper than I feel.

Exhaustion finally drags me down, and I drift off, the last thing I see is Mia's peaceful face on the screen, not knowing if I'm more relieved or resentful that she's sleeping soundly without me.

The darkness is thick around me when my eyes snap open. How long was I out? It feels like minutes, but the silence tells me it's been hours. My hand goes straight to the monitor, holding it up to my bleary eyes. Mia is in her crib, fast asleep, but what catches me off guard is Zara. She's curled up in the armchair, her body a soft curve under the throw blanket that my mum made and put on Zara's bed to make her feel at home here.

The sight makes my heart beat a bit quicker. I didn't expect Zara to stay by Mia's side all night. That's something a parent does, not a nanny.

It's unsettling and comforting at the same time.

My feet hit the thick carpet in a rush, my mind already made up. I move quickly towards the nursery door and push it open with determination. The only sound in the darkened room is Mia's gurgling, which demands my attention.

"Shh, sweetie," I whisper, scooping her up into my arms. She's warm and wriggly, her tiny fist brushing against my cheek as if she's reassuring me she's okay. I can't explain it, but I need her close tonight, closer than just through a screen.

"Benjamin?" Zara's voice slices through the hush of the room. Groggy with sleep, she's instantly alert as Mia's noise wakes her. She's rubbing her eyes, the blanket slipping off her shoulders as she sits up.

"I've got her," I say, more gruffly than intended. I don't want to be harsh, not really, but gentleness feels like a language I forgot how to speak.

"Are you sure? I'm up," she begins, but I'm already shaking my head.

"I'm sure. Go to your room and sleep."

She gives me a frustrated stare. "Okay," she murmurs, standing up and stretching briefly. "Call if you need anything." There's a hesitation in her step, like she wants to say more, do more, but she doesn't. She pads out of the nursery, leaving us alone.

"Let's get you settled, sweetie," I murmur to Mia, holding her close. Her tiny hand curls around my finger, a grip so strong and trusting. "It's just me and you, Mia. Always."

Back in my room, the crib is nestled close to my bed. I hadn't been sure about having it so near, but right now, it feels like the only place it should be. Gently, I lower Mia into it, her little noises filling the space between us. Her eyes blink sleepily up at me, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It's just her and me, and that's all that matters.

"Sleep tight, my little star," I murmur, tucking the blanket around her. She wriggles for a second before settling down again, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. This tiny person has become my world, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she's safe, happy, loved. Always.

My breath steadies as I lie back on the bed, exhaustion seeping into every bone in my body, the mating bite on my neck throbbing with the rejection of my omega mate.

My thoughts drift to Zara. She's here, in my house, taking care of Mia when I'm supposed to be the one doing all of that. Mum and Dad didn't take no for an answer and said I needed the help. They're not wrong. I've been running on fumes, and the work at the firm isn't going to wait much longer.

My eyes drift shut, but behind them, there's an endless reel of thoughts. It's more than just professional with Zara. She cares, really cares, and I don't know how to feel about that. Can I stand having her around? She's nothing like Nicole, Mia's mum, who left without so much as a backward glance. Will Zara leave as well? Will my bad attitude force her out of here?

"I'll never leave you, Mia." It's a promise, an oath sworn in the quiet of the night. Nicole might've walked out on us, but I won't. Not now, not ever. No matter how hard it gets.

Mia makes a small sound in her sleep, a reminder that she's here, she's real, and she's mine. My heart swells with love for this little being who depends on me for everything. She's my responsibility, my joy, my pain. I have to do everything in my power to give her the best life possible, even if it means accepting help from Zara.

I roll onto my side, facing the crib, watching Mia sleep. Maybe tomorrow I'll figure out how to handle all this—how to deal with Zara, work, and being a solo parent.

For now, though, I let the rhythm of Mia's breathing lull me into a restless sleep.