Chapter 40 Pedro
PEDRO
Aweek after the bonding ceremony, I'm in my home office reviewing patient charts when the doorbell rings.
Unusual. We don't get many visitors. The house is at the end of a private road, tucked away from the main part of town. Most people call first.
Through the pack bond, I feel Jessica's curiosity from upstairs where she's been working on her business plan with Stacey. Carlos is in his workshop. Sergio is at the gym. Nacho is still at the station, wrapping up his shift.
I head to the front door, medical instincts already cataloging possibilities. Emergency. Lost tourist. Package delivery.
I don't expect to find Sandra Morrison on my doorstep.
Callum's mother looks older than the last time I saw her.
Her dark hair, always perfectly styled, is pulled back in a simple ponytail.
Her face is bare of makeup. She's wearing jeans and a cardigan instead of her usual designer clothes.
Dark circles under her eyes suggest poor sleep.
Her posture is wrong. Shoulders curved forward. Defensive.
She looks like a woman who's had the ground pulled out from under her.
"Dr. Negrorio." Her voice is hoarse. Vocal strain. Probably from crying. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced. I tried calling, but I didn't have your personal number, and I couldn't... I needed to tell you in person."
"Mrs. Morrison." I don't move from the doorway. "What can I do for you?"
"Is Jessica here? I need to speak with her. With all of you."
Every protective instinct I have screams at me to shut the door. This woman enabled her son for years. Made excuses. Used her family's money and influence to smooth over his mistakes.
But she looks broken. And something in her scent tells me she's not here to cause trouble.
"Wait here." I close the door and pull out my phone.
Me: Sandra Morrison is at the front door. She wants to talk to all of us about something. Says it's important.
Jessica: Callum's mom???
Me: Yes.
Jessica: What does she want?
Me: She didn't say. But she looks different. Shaken.
There's a pause….
Jessica: Let her in. I'll be down in a minute.
I open the door again. Sandra hasn't moved. She's staring at her hands, twisting a tissue between her fingers. Repetitive motion. Anxiety response.
"Come in." I step aside.
She enters slowly, taking in the house with cautious glances.
"I'll get you some water." I gesture toward the couch. "Jessica will be down shortly."
Sandra perches on the edge of the cushion, spine straight. Old habits. "Thank you."
I return from the kitchen with a glass of water just as Jessica descends the stairs.
She's wearing one of Nacho's t-shirts and leggings, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. The bonding marks on her neck are visible, still healing. Pink and tender. She looks soft and loved and completely at home.
Sandra’s breath catches when she sees her.
"Jessica." Sandra’s voice cracks. "You look happy."
Jessica's voice is steady. Careful. "I am."
She takes a seat in the armchair across from Sandra, and I position myself behind her. Close enough to intervene if needed.
Sandra’s hands shake as she sets down the water glass. "I'm glad. You deserve to be happy. You always deserved better than what my son gave you."
Jessica goes still.
"Mrs. Morrison..."
“Sandra. Please. I think we're past formalities." Sandra takes a shaky breath. "I came to apologize. And to tell you something you need to know."
The back door opens. Carlos enters, still covered in sawdust, his expression wary when he sees our visitor.
"What's going on?"
Jessica's voice is calm, but I can feel her tension through the bond. “Sandra was just about to tell us something."
Sandra's hands twist the tissue again. Shredding it. "Callum's been arrested."
The words drop into the room like stones.
Jessica's voice is barely above a whisper. "When?"
"A week ago. In New York." Sandra's eyes are wet. "There was a girl. An omega. She was at a bar near his apartment. He bought her drinks. She was barely conscious when he took her back to his place. The neighbors heard her screaming….” Her voice breaks. “Police came.”
My stomach turns. Clinical detachment fails me for a moment. I've treated rape victims. I know what that girl is facing. The physical trauma, and the long road to recovery.
Carlos makes a sound low in his throat. Jessica has gone pale. Her pulse is visible in her neck. Elevated heart rate. Stress response.
Jessica whispers. "The settlement letter. He wanted me to sign something saying he never hurt me. That our relationship was fine. That I left because I was confused, not because he was abusive."
Sandra's voice is flat. Statement, not question. "You didn't sign it."
"No. I shredded it." Jessica's hands curl into fists. "He was trying to build a defense. In case someone came forward."
Sandra's tears spill over. "Multiple someones. The police started investigating after they arrested him. They found other women. Incidents at parties. Spiked drinks. Aggressive behavior. Unwanted touching. Nothing that went to trial because my husband paid them off."
She chokes on the words.
Jessica's voice is hollow. "He made it go away."
Sandra's face crumples. "Yes. I didn't know the extent of it. I knew Callum had a temper."
Carlos's voice is hard. "That's not a temper. That's abuse."
Sandra looks at him. "I know that now. My son is a monster, and I helped create him."
She turns back to Jessica.
"You tried to tell me. At the rehearsal dinner, when you said you weren't sure about the wedding. I could see it in your eyes. You were terrified. And I told you it was just cold feet. That every bride feels nervous. I sent you back to him."
Jessica starts. "Mrs. Morrison..."
Sandra cuts her off. "I sent you back to a man who would have hurt you. And I did nothing."
The room is silent except for Sandra's quiet sobs.
Jessica stands slowly. Crosses to the couch. Sits beside Callum's mother.
Her words are soft. Simple. "I forgive you."
Sandra stares at her. "How? How can you possibly..."
"Because holding onto anger is exhausting." Jessica's voice is steady. "Because that girl in New York is getting justice, and that matters more than what happened to me."
"You deserved justice too."
Jessica glances back at me, at Carlos standing in the doorway. "I got something better. I got away. I got a pack that loves me."
Sandra covers her face with her hands, shoulders shaking.
She manages after a moment. "The prosecutor wants to talk to you. About your relationship with Callum. About the abuse. It would help their case. Show a pattern. But you don't have to. I'll understand if you can't."
Jessica's voice is firm. "I'll do it. Whatever they need. I'll testify. I'll give statements. Whatever helps put him away."
Sandra wipes her eyes. "Thank you. The prosecutor said with the evidence they have, with the other victims, he's looking at significant prison time."
I should feel satisfaction. Justice served. But all I feel is a bone-deep sadness for the man Callum could have been. The friend he pretended to be.
Sandra stands, steadier now. "I should go. I've taken enough of your time. But Jessica, I want you to know. I told the prosecutor everything I saw. Every time Callum raised his voice at you. Every time you flinched. Every excuse I made. I'm not protecting him anymore."
Jessica walks her to the door. "Thank you for coming."
Sandra pauses on the threshold. "You're going to be a wonderful mother someday. You'll protect your children. Keep them safe. Teach them to be good people. Everything I failed to do."
Jessica's smile is soft. "Someday. When we're ready."
Sandra's voice catches. "They'll be lucky children. So very lucky."
She leaves, and Jessica closes the door behind her.
Silence settles over the house.
Carlos is the first to speak. "How long do you think he'll get?"
Jessica turns to face us. "The prosecutor told Sandra it could be decades. With multiple victims and the severity of the New York assault, they could push for maximum sentencing."
Carlos's voice is hard. "Good. He deserves every year they give him."
I move to Jessica, checking her pulse, her breathing, her pupils. Doctor mode. Safe mode. Pupil dilation normal. Pulse elevated but steady. Breathing slightly shallow but controlled.
She catches my hand. "I'm okay. I'm not going to fall apart."
"You're allowed to fall apart."
"I know." She looks up at me. "But I don't need to. He can't hurt me anymore. He can't hurt anyone anymore. And that girl in New York, she fought back. She screamed. She got help. She didn't spend six years making herself smaller."
Her voice breaks on the last word.
I pull her into my arms. Carlos wraps around her from behind. Through the bond, I feel Sergio and Nacho both responding to her distress. They'll be home soon.
She whispers into my chest. "I'm glad it's over. I'm glad he'll face consequences. I'm glad that girl will get justice. But part of me is sad too. For who he could have been. For the friend you all lost."
Carlos's voice is rough. "We didn't lose a friend. We lost an illusion. The real Callum was always a monster. We just didn't want to see it."
Jessica pulls back, wiping her eyes. "Sandra was trying. In her own way. She was trying to do the right thing."
I mutter. "A week too late."
"Better late than never."
The front door opens. Nacho enters in his uniform, his dark eyes immediately finding Jessica.
He's across the room in three strides. "What's wrong? I felt..."
Jessica's voice is steady. "Callum was arrested. For rape. In New York. Sandra came to tell us."
Nacho goes very still.
"When?"
"A week ago."
"Is the victim okay?"
"As okay as she can be. She's pressing charges. There are other victims too. The prosecutor thinks he'll get decades."
Nacho's arms wrap around her from behind, his chin resting on top of her head.
He says simply. "Good. That's exactly where he belongs."
Jessica leans into him. Into all of us.
"Can we just not talk about this for a while? I want to think about anything else. Literally anything else."
Carlos asks. "What do you want to do?"
"Order takeout. Watch something stupid on TV. Be with my pack, and my best friend.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. "We can do that."
Sergio arrives twenty minutes later. We fill him in quietly while Jessica updates Stacey upstairs. His face goes hard when we tell him about the arrest, about the other victims, about Sandra's visit.
He says. "How long?"
"Decades. Maybe more."
His voice is flat. "Not enough. It'll never be enough for what he did."
I agree. "No. But it's something. It's justice."
We spend the evening in the living room. Eating Thai food straight from the containers. Watching terrible reality TV. Touching Jessica constantly, reassuring ourselves that she's safe, and Stacey telling jokes.
Jessica falls asleep around ten, curled between Sergio and Nacho, one hand fisted in Carlos's shirt. Stacey refills her wine glass and heads to bed upstairs.
I watch her breathe. Study the peace on her face. The trust in her body language. Medical observations. Patient at rest. Heart rate normal. Breathing deep and even. No signs of distress.
Callum is in a cell in New York. Facing decades in prison. His life is over.
And Jessica's is just beginning.
That's the justice that matters most.