Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 80 Dec 18, 2025 POV: Lysander The bus schedule on the nightstand shows a departure for Portland in two hours. Highlighted in yellow marker, circled in pen-Claire's been planning this with the same methodical precision she applied to my calendar for two years. "I'll be a good father." The words come out desperate, stripped of the control I usually maintain. "I'll pay support, be involved, do everything right-" "From Denver? While I'm in Portland or Seattle or wherever I end up?" She's packing now, shoving clothes into her suitcase with shaking hands that betray the calm in her voice.

"Monthly visits? FaceTime calls? Joint custody arrangements that torture us both?" "Better than nothing-" "Is it though?" She stops packing, faces me with eyes that have gone flat. "Is growing up with a father who resents their mother better than growing up with just a mother who chose them?" Her hands press against her stomach in unconscious protection. "Because that's what this would be. You, resenting me for trapping you. Me, resenting you for not loving me enough." My chest tightens. "I could learn to love you enough-" "No." The word is final, delivered with board-meeting certainty.

"You can't make yourself love someone completely. I've tried." She zips her suitcase closed with violent precision. "Spent two years trying to be enough for you while you loved someone else. It doesn't work." She grabs her coat off the chair. The cheap fabric catches on the armrest, and she yanks it free with force that speaks volumes about what she's not saying. "I'm asking you to leave. To let me get on that bus and start over." Her voice stays steady but her fingers tremble fastening buttons.

"To let me raise this baby without the complication of you trying and failing to commit." "You can't keep my child from me-" "I can and I will." She turns, and the steel in her expression makes me step back. "I'll move every time you find me. Change my name if I have to. Do whatever's necessary to protect my baby from men who treat love like a business decision." The accusation lands because I've done exactly that. Weighed options, calculated risks, tried to optimize an outcome where I get both women without choosing either. She's at the door, suitcase in hand.

I see the pregnancy test on the nightstand-bright pink plastic, two lines that changed everything. "Don't go. Please." I'm begging now, dignity abandoned in this depressing motel room. "Let me try. Let me prove I can be what you need." She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. For one heartbeat I think she's reconsidering, that maybe desperate honesty is enough. "I loved you." Past tense again, each word a small death. "Loved you enough to destroy myself." Her shoulders straighten, some inner resolve clicking into place. "But I love this baby more.

And that means protecting them from you." She opens the door. February cold rushes in, cutting through the room's stale heat. I watch her walk toward the bus station, suitcase rolling behind her across cracked asphalt, shoulders straight despite being eight weeks pregnant and alone. She doesn't look back. Doesn't give me a final glance, a moment of hesitation, anything to work with. I should follow. Should stop her. Should make some grand gesture that proves I'm serious about being involved, about choosing her.

But I stand in the doorway of Room 114, frozen, watching the woman carrying my child walk away from me. She reaches the bus station. Disappears inside the glass doors. I have maybe ten minutes before her bus leaves. Ten minutes to decide if I'm chasing her or letting her go. Ten minutes to finally choose. My phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it out with numb fingers. Text from Caroline: You went to Boston. Did you find her? I stare at the message. At Caroline reaching out, checking on me, still caring despite everything.

Despite the office incident, despite the drama, despite having every reason to block my number and move on. Then I look at the bus station where Claire's about to board a bus to Portland with my child growing inside her. Two women. Two futures. Two impossible choices. The pregnancy test is still on the nightstand. I walk back into the room, pick it up with careful fingers. Two pink lines stark against white plastic, undeniable proof I'm going to be a father whether I'm present for it or not. I pocket the test.

Some primal instinct needing physical evidence of what I'm losing, what I'm choosing to lose. Outside, the bus is loading. Through the grimy station windows I see Claire settling into a seat near the back. She's not looking for me. Already moved on, already made her choice. I pull out my phone. Hover between Claire's blocked number and Caroline's active text thread. The bus's engine starts. Low rumble that vibrates through the parking lot, counting down seconds I'm wasting standing here. I need to choose. Finally choose. Completely. The bus pulls away from the curb.

Claire's face disappears as it turns the corner, heading toward the highway, toward Portland, toward a life that doesn't include me. Lysander Fenris stands in the parking lot of the Riverside Inn, pregnancy test in his pocket, phone in his hand, understanding he just let her go. Understanding he chose to let her go. I text Caroline: I found her. She's gone. She doesn't want me there. Her response takes three minutes that feel like three hours: I'm sorry. Are you okay? I stare at that message.

At Caroline checking on me despite everything, despite our history, despite having every reason to be done with my disasters. My fingers move before my brain catches up: No. But I will be. Can we talk? Really talk? Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Yes. When you're ready. I pocket my phone. Look one more time toward the highway where Claire's bus disappeared into gray Boston afternoon. I don't know if she's pregnant with a boy or a girl. Don't know if she'll keep running or eventually settle somewhere I can find her.

Don't know if I'll ever meet my child, ever get to explain why I chose to stand in a motel parking lot instead of chasing their mother. But I know this: I let her go. Chose to let her leave rather than chase her down and force myself into a life she doesn't want me in. Chose Caroline-or the possibility of Caroline, the chance at something that isn't built on obligation and resentment. Chose wrong, maybe. Chose selfishly, definitely. But I chose. The pregnancy test is solid weight in my pocket as I walk to my rental car.

Physical proof of the child I'll send support checks for, the child who'll grow up knowing their father let them slip away rather than fight. My phone stays silent as I drive to the airport. No text from Claire saying she changed her mind. No miracle ending where she realizes I'm worth the risk. Just February cold and the knowledge that I'm going to be a father to a child I'll never know. And I'll have to live with that choice. Forever. Archer