Felix, your sweet cute Omega, was pacing.

Not his usual “I’m waiting for the cookies to be done” pacing. No, this was the serious, mumbling-to-himself, biting-his-nail pacing that only happened when something was really off.

“She’s never this late,” Felix muttered for the fifth time, peeking out the giant bay window that overlooked the driveway. “It’s almost 5:40.”

Berry, their royal spaniel, trotted behind him with each turn, her tiny white paws clicking against the marble floor.

“She always comes back before five. Always. I told her. You told her. We both told her!”

Berry let out a low yip, as if in agreement.

Felix spun on his heel and marched back toward the couch, where you, his Alpha, were sitting — muscles stretching under your black sleeveless hoodie, your laptop open in front of you, though the screen had long gone to sleep.

“I’m going to call the police.” He declared.

You looked up. What—

“I am.” He continued.

You stood, instantly a head or two taller than Felix, and gently took his hand, trying to calm him down.

“She’s seven, not seventeen. This isn’t fashionably late — it’s dangerously late! I gave birth to her!! I know her!! She never loses track of time. Her internal clock is better than Berry’s.”

Berry barked indignantly from under the table.

Felix pulled away with a huff, arms crossed. “If she doesn’t walk through that door in the next ten minutes, I will storm every playground in the neighborhood.”

You gave him a look — that “adorable but dramatic” look.

Exactly seven minutes later — at 6:10 p.m. on the dot — the front door clicked open.

Felix whipped around so fast he almost tripped over Berry. And there she was.

Chaeyoung. Their seven-year-old Omega, dirt-covered, smile-too-wide daughter. Wearing her favorite pink hoodie (now smeared with what looked like mud and possibly jam?), a sock missing, and her black leggings with holes in both knees.

“Hi Eomma. Hi Appa!” She chirped brightly, as if she hadn’t just given her parents both early gray hairs.

Felix’s mouth dropped. “Chaeyoung, what time is it?”

“Um…” She looked around, like maybe the chandelier would give her a hint. “...LATE?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Definitely Felix's personality.

“You promised,” Felix said, hands on his hips. “What did we say about being home before five?”

“That I’d turn into a pumpkin if I wasn’t?”

“Don't get sassy with your Eomma, young lady,” Felix warned. “You're already muddy enough to be mistaken for a garden gnome.”

“But—I was going to come back! I meant to! But I found something!”

“Oh, you found something?” Felix raised a brow.

And that’s when they saw the box.

A soggy, lopsided cardboard box cradled in her tiny arms. She held it like it was a treasure chest. Or a time bomb. Either way, carefully, and opened the lid.

Five scrawny, damp-looking, dust-smudged kittens with saucer-wide eyes stared up at them from inside the box. Their tiny ribs were visible. One of them let out a sneeze.

“Oh my god,” Felix gasped. “You brought stray kittens home?!”