Caspian was desperate, and desperation made even alpha kings do things they would never normally consider. He sat in his study, reviewing the application of yet another candidate for the position of nanny to his three pups, knowing before he even finished reading that this one would fail, just like all the others.

 18 candidates in 6 months, and his children had rejected every single one. Some lasted days before the pups made their displeasure clear. Others lasted mere hours. One particularly unfortunate woman had lasted exactly 20 minutes before 7-year-old Ember had calmly informed her that she was not wanted and should leave immediately. The problem was not the candidates themselves.

 Most were qualified, experienced with children, came with excellent references. The problem was that Caspian’s pups had lost their mother two years ago and had decided, apparently collectively that no replacement would ever be acceptable. They tested every candidate, pushed boundaries, acted out, and ultimately drove each one away through sheer determination to remain unmthered.

Caspian understood their resistance even as it frustrated him. Their mother, Luna Sarah, had died giving birth to their youngest, Brier. The delivery had gone wrong in ways the healers could not predict or prevent, and Sarah had bled out while the newborn screamed in the arms of midwives who could do nothing except try to save one life when saving both proved impossible.

Ember had been five then, old enough to remember her mother vividly, old enough to grieve deeply. Ash had been three, young enough that his memories were fragmentaryary, but old enough to know something precious had been taken, and Brier had never known her mother at all, had come into the world marked by the absence of the woman who had carried her. For 2 years, Caspian had tried to be both father and mother to his children.

He had hired nurses and nannies and caretakers, but the pups rejected them all. He had considered remarage, had even entertained visits from noble ladies who made it clear they would be willing to become Luna and stepmother. But the pups rejected those women even more vehemently than the hired help, and Caspian could not bring himself to force a new mother on children who were grieving the one they had lost.

 But the situation was becoming unsustainable. Caspian had responsibilities as Alpha King that required travel, required attention, required hours spent in meetings and negotiations and handling the complex politics of ruling multiple territories. He could not do his job effectively while also trying to provide constant child care.

 and his pups, especially Brier, who was only two, needed stability and care that a single parent struggling with grief and overwhelming responsibilities simply could not provide alone. Hence the desperation, hence reviewing applications from candidates he suspected his children would reject within hours of meeting them.

 The application currently in front of him was different from the others and not in ways that suggested it would be more successful. The candidate was named Ren, 24 years old, omega from a small pack on the border territories. Her experience with children was listed as minimal, some babysitting, nothing professional. Her references were sparse, and there was a gap in her work history of nearly 3 years with no explanation provided.

 What made Caspian pause was not the qualifications, which were clearly inadequate compared to previous candidates. It was the note at the bottom of the application written in small careful handwriting. I am not qualified for this position. I have no formal training, but I am gentle and I am patient and I need work desperately.

 If you are willing to take a chance on someone broken, I promise I will try my hardest. Someone broken. The phrase resonated with Caspian in ways he could not fully articulate. His children were broken. He was broken. Perhaps someone else who understood brokenness might succeed, where perfectly qualified, perfectly whole candidates had failed. He called for his assistant to schedule an interview.

 Ren arrived at the Alpha King’s residence 3 days later, and Caspian could see immediately what she meant by broken. She was small for an omega, thin in ways that suggested insufficient food rather than natural build, with dark hair pulled back severely, and clothes that were clean but worn. But it was her eyes that revealed the most.

 Dark, wary, with the look of someone who expected pain and had learned to flinch before it arrived. Thank you for meeting with me, my lord,” she said quietly, keeping her gaze down, her posture submissive in ways that went beyond normal deference to an alpha.

 This was someone who had learned to make herself small, to avoid attention, to minimize her presence as much as possible. “Please sit,” Caspian said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. She sat carefully as if the furniture might hurt her as if sitting itself was a privilege that could be revoked. Your application was honest, Caspian began, deciding directness was the best approach.

 You acknowledged you lack qualifications, so I need to understand why do you want this position? Why should I hire you instead of the numerous candidates with actual experience? Ren was quiet for a moment, clearly gathering courage. “I do not want the position,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want safety.

I want a place where I can work and eat and sleep without fear.” “Your advertisement,” said the nanny would live in the residence, would be provided meals and quarters. That is what I need. The work itself, caring for your children, I will do as well as I possibly can because that is fair exchange for safety. But I am not lying to you about qualifications I do not have. I am just asking for a chance.

Safety from what? Caspian asked, though he suspected he knew the answer. From the pack I left, Ren said. From the mate who hurt me. From the family who said I deserved it. I have been running for 3 years. My lord, I am tired. I want to stop running.

 And I thought maybe if I was useful, if I could work, someone might let me stay somewhere without asking too many questions about where I came from. She did not elaborate, but Caspian could see the weight of those three years in her posture, in her eyes, in the way she held herself as if expecting a blow. He did not press for details she clearly was not ready to share.

 What Ren did not say, what she had never told anyone, was the full extent of what those three years had cost her. Her mate, a mid-ranking wolf in a border pack, had been charming during their courtship and violent after the mating mark was applied. The abuse had started small, criticism, control over where she went and who she spoke to, gradually escalating isolation. Then it had become physical.

 Bruises hidden under clothing. Broken ribs that healed incorrectly because seeking medical help would mean admitting what was happening. And finally, an injury during a particularly brutal beating that had left her unable to bear children. A reality the pack healer had confirmed with sympathy, but no offer of help.

When Ren had tried to leave, her mate had claimed she was unstable, that she was lying about the abuse, that she was the problem. Her family had believed him or had chosen to believe him because acknowledging the truth would require action they were unwilling to take. So, Ren had run.

 She had left with nothing except the clothes she wore and a survival instinct that insisted she had to get away before he killed her, because she knew with certainty that he eventually would. The 3 years since had been a blur of temporary work, staying nowhere long enough to be found, sleeping in places that were barely shelter, eating when she could afford to, and going hungry when she could not.

 She had learned to make herself invisible, to avoid attention, to recognize the signs of danger before it arrived. And she had slowly accepted that this would be her life, running, hiding, surviving, but never truly living until eventually she was too tired or too unlucky, and he found her. The advertisement for a living nanny position had seemed too good to be true.

 Room and board provided meant she would not be sleeping rough. Working for the Alpha King meant protection she could not find anywhere else. Even her former mate would not dare pursue her into the residence of someone with that much power. And caring for children, while something she had no formal training in, was at least work that felt meaningful rather than merely transactional.

 She had written her application expecting rejection, had been shocked when she received an interview request, and had come to the residence certain this was another thing that would not work out because nothing in her life worked out anymore. But Caspian had hired her anyway, had seen her brokenness, and decided it was not disqualifying, and for the first time in 3 years, Ren had felt something that might eventually become hope.

 She still woke up some nights, certain she heard her former mate’s footsteps, still flinched at sudden movements, still expected every good thing to be taken away because that was what her life had taught her. But she had promised to stay for 6 months, and Ren kept her promises even when keeping them was hard. It was the most honest interview Caspian had ever conducted.

 No performance, no attempt to impress, just raw truth from someone who clearly had nothing left to lose by being honest. I need someone who will not leave when my children test them, Caspian said. And they will test you, Ren. They have rejected 18 caregivers in 6 months. They are grieving their mother and have decided no one can replace her.

 Can you handle that? I would not try to replace her, Ren said immediately. How could I? She was their mother. She gave them life. I am just someone who might keep them safe and fed and cared for while you handle your responsibilities. That is not the same thing. Something in Caspian’s chest tightened at her words. Every other candidate had assured him they could be a wonderful mother to his children.

 Ren was the first to acknowledge she could never be what they had lost. The position is yours if you want it, he said, making a decision that felt simultaneously reckless and right. Room and board provided, plus a salary. The only requirement is that you commit to staying at least 6 months, regardless of how difficult my children make things. They need stability more than they need perfect care.

 Can you promise that? Yes, Ren said without hesitation. I can promise that. She moved into the residence that evening, given a small room near the children’s quarters, and Caspian introduced her to his pups at breakfast the following morning. Ember, the seven-year-old, looked Ren up and down with the assessing gaze of a child who had learned to evaluate threats. You are smaller than the last one, she observed. And you look scared.

 Are you scared of us? I am scared of most things, Ren admitted, her honesty apparently extending to children. But I am not scared you will hurt me. I am scared I will fail you. There is a difference. Ash, the 5-year-old boy scowlled from his seat. We do not want you here. We do not want anyone here. Go away. I understand, Ren said calmly, not arguing or trying to convince him otherwise. You can want me to go away.

That is fair. I will still be here and I will still make sure you have food and clean clothes and help if you need it, but you do not have to like me or want me here.” 2-year-old Brier just stared at Ren with wide eyes, clearly uncertain about this new person in her space. The first days were tense, but not hostile in the way Caspian had feared.

 His children did not scream at Ren or actively drive her away. They simply ignored her as much as possible, treating her as furniture rather than a person. When she prepared meals, they ate without acknowledging her effort. When she helped Brier dress, the toddler submitted without response. When she read to them, something she did every evening without being asked.

 They listened but said nothing. Ren established routines that asked nothing of the children except presents. Every morning she prepared breakfast and set out their clothes for the day, humming quietly while she worked. She never demanded they thank her or acknowledge her efforts.

 She simply provided care as reliably as sunrise, expecting nothing in return. Mornings became predictable in ways the pups had not experienced since their mother’s death. Ren would wake before dawn, prepare oatmeal with honey the way Ember liked it, cut Ash’s fruit into small pieces because he refused to eat anything too large. warm Briar’s milk to exactly the right temperature.

 She learned their preferences through observation rather than asking, noting what they ate eagerly and what they pushed aside, adjusting meals accordingly without comment. Bath time, which previous caregivers had turned into battles of will, became simply something that happened. Ren would fill the tub, set out clean clothes, and then wait. If the children came immediately, fine.

 If they delayed, she waited patiently without threatening or cajoling. Eventually, they always came because Ren never punished the delay or made them feel bad about their resistance. Bedtime was when Ren’s presence became most noticeable, though the children pretended otherwise. She would settle in the chair between Ember and Ash’s rooms, where she could see Briar’s crib through the open door and read aloud from whatever book she had selected.

 Her voice was soft, soothing, the kind of sound that made resisting sleep difficult. The stories she chose were thoughtful tales of adventure and bravery, of families that faced difficulties and survived them, of love that persisted despite obstacles. She never chose stories about mothers dying or children being abandoned.

 She was careful about that in ways that showed she understood their wounds, even if they never spoke of them. Some nights, Ember would inch closer to hear better, though she always maintained that she was too old for bedtime stories. Ash would go silent in his room, clearly listening, even though he pretended not to care.

 And Brier would stand in her crib, hands on the rail, watching Ren with solemn attention, until the story ended and sleep claimed her. After the children slept, Ren would walk through the residence, checking that windows were locked and doors secured, a habit from years of running that she could not break. Caspian, working late in his study, often saw her pass by and recognized the behavior of someone who never felt truly safe, who always anticipated danger, even in the quietest moments.

He began leaving tea out for her. Nothing obvious, just a cup prepared and sitting on the table she passed during her security checks. She never acknowledged it, but the cup was always empty by morning, and Caspian found himself pleased that he could offer this small comfort to someone who expected so little.

Caspian watched these interactions from a distance, trying to determine if this arrangement was working or simply failing more slowly than previous attempts. Ren did not seem bothered by being ignored. She went about her duties with quiet competence, never demanding acknowledgement or affection, never pushing the children to accept her.

 She was simply present, reliably and gently, asking nothing in return. The first crack in the children’s resistance came from Ember. The eldest pup had a way of testing caregivers that was particularly effective. She would deliberately break rules or misbehave and then watch how the adult responded.

 Would they punish harshly, prove themselves cruel, give her ammunition to demand their dismissal? One afternoon, Ember deliberately spilled an entire picture of juice across the dining table, watching Ren’s face for the reaction. Ren looked at the spreading mess at Ember’s defiant expression and said simply, “That must have been an accident. Here, I will help you clean it up.

” “It was not an accident,” Ember said challengingly. “I did it on purpose.” “Are you going to tell father? Are you going to punish me?” “No,” Ren said, gathering cloths to absorb the juice. I imagine you had a reason for doing it, even if I do not understand what that reason is. And spilling juice is not a crime. It is just something that needs to be cleaned.

The last nanny said I was a spoiled brat when I tested her, Ember said, helping clean despite her challenging tone. She said I needed discipline and consequences. She told father I was out of control. You are not out of control, Ren said. You are testing me to see if I am safe. That is smart, not bratty. I would probably test me too if I were you.

Ember studied Ren for a long moment. Do you promise you will stay even when we are difficult? Even when we test you. I promised your father I would stay for at least 6 months, Ren said. I keep my promises. Why? Ember asked, the question loaded with more than just curiosity. Everyone else leaves.

 Why would you stay when we make it hard? Because I understand being difficult when you are hurt, Ren said quietly. Because I know what it is like to push people away to see if they come back. Because I think you deserve someone who stays, even when staying is hard. Something shifted in Ember’s expression. Not quite acceptance, but the beginning of it. a recognition that perhaps this caregiver was different from the others.

Ash’s breakthrough took longer and was more dramatic. The 5-year-old was angry in ways that seemed disproportionate to his age, throwing tantrums that destroyed toys and furniture, screaming at anyone who tried to calm him. Previous caregivers had tried to discipline the anger away to teach him that such behavior was unacceptable. Ren did neither.

 One evening, Ash threw a tantrum so violent that he knocked over a bookshelf, scattering books and breaking a lamp. Caspian heard the crash from his study and came running, expecting to find Ren hurt or the situation out of control. Instead, he found Ren sitting on the floor near Ash, not touching him, not trying to restrain him, just sitting quietly while the boy screamed and raged.

 He is destroying the room, Caspian said, shocked that Ren was not intervening. The room can be repaired, Ren said calmly. He needs to get the anger out. It has been living inside him for too long, and it needs somewhere to go. Ash’s tantrum eventually exhausted itself. The boy collapsed among the broken furniture, crying, his small body shaking with sobs that spoke of grief rather than mere anger.

 and Ren, moving slowly so as not to startle him, opened her arms in invitation without reaching for him. Ash crawled into her lap and cried harder, and Ren held him carefully, stroking his hair, murmuring words too quiet for Caspian to hear, but that seemed to comfort the grieving child. “I miss her,” Ash sobbed.

 “I miss Mama, and I am angry she left. And I am angry father could not save her. And I am angry at Brier because mama died making her and I do not want to be angry anymore, but I do not know how to stop. Being angry is okay, Ren said gently. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to miss her. You are allowed to feel everything you are feeling. Those feelings do not make you bad.

 They make you someone who loved your mother very much and is very sad that she is gone. Everyone else tells me to stop being angry, Ash said, his voice muffled against Ren’s shoulder. They say I need to behave better. They say I am too much. You are not too much, Ren promised. You are exactly right. And I will not leave just because you are angry.

 You can be angry around me as much as you need. I will stay. Caspian watched this exchange from the doorway, something in his chest cracking open. For two years, he had tried to fix his son’s anger, to discipline it away, to teach him to control emotions that were too big for a 5-year-old to contain. Ren was the first person who had simply let Ash feel what he felt without judgment, who had recognized that the anger was grief, and the grief was love that had nowhere to go.

 Briar’s attachment to Ren developed more gradually, but perhaps most profoundly. The 2-year-old had never known her mother, had spent her entire short life being passed between caretakers who left before any real bond could form. She was a quiet child, too quiet, who cried rarely and clung to no one, as if she had learned that attachment led only to abandonment.

But Ren was patient with her in ways that transcended normal caregiving. When Brier woke crying at night, Ren was there within seconds, lifting the toddler and walking her through the residence until she calmed. When Brier needed help with tasks she was still learning, Ren showed her repeatedly without frustration, celebrating small successes as if they were great achievements.

 When Brier was simply being a toddler, messy, demanding, difficult, Ren met it all with gentleness that never wavered. One morning, several weeks after Ren had started working for them, Brier toddled into the kitchen where Ren was preparing breakfast and raised her arms in the universal gesture of wanting to be picked up. Ren lifted her automatically, settling the child on her hip while she continued cooking with one hand.

 “Mama,” Brier said, patting Ren’s cheek. The word hung in the air, impossible and profound. Ren froze, clearly uncertain how to respond. And Caspian, who had entered the kitchen to retrieve his morning tea, felt tears burning his eyes for the first time since Sarah’s funeral. “Oh, little one,” Ren said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

“I am not your mama. Your mama was beautiful and brave and loved you very much, even though she could not stay with you. I am just Ren.” Mama, Brier insisted, as if the title was not about biology, but about the person who came when she cried, who held her gently, who made her feel safe. Caspian saw Ren’s hands trembling as she held his youngest daughter, saw tears tracking down her face, saw her struggling with the weight of being called a name she had never expected to hear. And he understood finally why his children had chosen her when they had

rejected everyone else. The other candidates had tried to be their mother, had performed maternalism as if it were a role to be filled. Ren had not tried to be anything except present and gentle and consistent. She had not tried to replace what they had lost.

 She had simply offered what she could, safety, patience, acceptance, and his children, so desperate for exactly those things, had recognized the difference between performance and authenticity. You can call her mama if you want, Brier, Caspian said, his voice rough with emotion he had kept controlled for too long. I think that would be okay. Ren looked at him with panic.

 I cannot I should not. She should not call me that. It is not appropriate. I am just a caregiver. I am not. You are the person she feels safe with. Caspian interrupted gently. You are the person who comes when she cries and holds her until she stops. You are the person who is patient and gentle and present. If that is not what a mother is, I do not know what is.

But you will want to marry someone eventually, Ren said desperately. Someone appropriate, someone who can be Luna and give you more children and be a proper mother to them. I cannot be that person. I am broken. I cannot have children of my own. I am just temporary until you find someone better. I felt the mate bond.

 Caspian admitted the truth he had been avoiding for weeks finally spoken aloud. The first morning you made breakfast when you were singing quietly to yourself while you cooked. It snapped into place so suddenly I nearly dropped the tea you had prepared for me. You are not temporary, Ren. You are my mate, chosen by destiny. and my children chose you too before I even recognized what I was feeling. They knew before I did that you were meant to be here.

 Ren stared at him in disbelief. I am an omega with trauma with no education with nothing to offer an alpha king. I cannot be your mate. The moon goddess does not choose mates so mismatched. The moon goddess chose someone who understands brokenness. Caspian said, “Someone who has survived trauma and came out the other side gentle instead of hardened.

 Someone who sees my children as individuals rather than obligations. Someone who does not perform love but gives it freely without expecting anything in return. That is exactly who my children and I needed. That is exactly what the moon goddess chose.” Over the following weeks, as the truth of the mate bond settled between them, as Ren slowly began to believe that this was real and permanent rather than another temporary situation that would end in abandonment, the household transformed. The pups, who had been grieving and angry and lost, began to settle into something resembling

happiness. Ember smiled more, her testing of boundaries shifting from challenges to playfulness. Ash’s tantrums decreased as he learned that Ren would not leave no matter how big his feelings got, and Brier called Ren mama regularly, the title becoming simply fact rather than question. The transformation was not without setbacks.

One afternoon, a visiting official raised his voice in frustration during a meeting with Caspian, the sound carrying through the residence. Ren, who was helping Brier with a puzzle in the playroom, flinched violently at the raised voice, dropping the puzzle piece she held, her hands immediately moving to a protective position over her head as if expecting a blow. The children saw it.

 All three of them witnessed Ren’s instinctive fear response, saw the way her whole body tensed, saw the panic in her eyes before she could control her expression. For a moment, no one moved. Then Ember stood and walked to Ren, placing her small hand on Ren’s arm. “You are safe,” Ember said, using the same words Ren had used on her countless times.

 “The loud voice cannot hurt you here.” Father would not let anyone hurt you, and we would not let anyone hurt you either. Ash came to her other side, his face serious. “We will protect you, Ren, like you protect us. That is what families do. And Brier, who was only two but understood emotion better than words, climbed into Ren’s lap and patted her cheek gently, offering the comfort she had received so many times from this woman who loved her.

 Ren cried then, not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that she was not alone anymore. That these children who had been broken like her had somehow decided she was worth protecting, worth keeping, worth loving, despite all the ways trauma had damaged her. She held Brier and let Ember and Ash lean against her sides.

 And for the first time since she had run three years ago, Ren felt like she might actually be safe. Caspian found them like that. Ren surrounded by his children, all of them holding each other, offering comfort that flowed in all directions rather than just from caregiver to child. And he understood then that healing was not something that happened in isolation.

 They were all healing each other, all offering what they needed most to receive, all learning that love was not about perfection, but about staying even when things were hard. Are you okay? He asked Ren quietly, kneeling beside the small pile of his family. I am more than okay, Ren said, her voice thick with emotion. I am home. But there was one final test that came not from the pups, but from the nobles who had been waiting for Caspian to choose a new Luna.

 Lady Cordelia, who had been pursuing Caspian for months with barely concealed ambition, arrived at the residence unannounced one afternoon, clearly intending to present herself as the appropriate choice for Luna. She found Ren in the garden with the pups, all four of them covered in dirt from planting flowers, laughing at something Ash had said.

 “This is the woman you hired as caregiver?” Cordelia asked Caspian, her tone making it clear what she thought of Ren’s appearance. She looks barely better than a servant. And you let your children get filthy playing in dirt? That is unacceptable. We are planting Mama’s favorite flowers, Ember said, moving to stand protectively in front of Ren.

 Our real mama, the one who died. Ren said we should grow something beautiful to remember her by. That is not unacceptable. That is love. Ren is not your mother, Cordelia said dismissively. She is hired help. You should not call her that. She is our mama, Brier said firmly with the certainty only a toddler can project. She stays. She loves us.

 That makes her mama. Do not be ridiculous, Cordelia said, reaching to pull Brier away from Ren as if to physically demonstrate the inappropriateness of their attachment. Ash bit her. Actually sank his 5-year-old teeth into her hand hard enough to make her scream and release his sister. Do not touch her. Do not touch any of us. You do not get to decide who our mother is. We decided. We chose Ren.

 And if you do not like it, you can leave. Caspian, who had been watching this exchange with growing clarity, stepped forward. Lady Cordelia, I think it is time for you to go. As my son said, we have chosen. Ren is my mate and these children’s mother. That is not negotiable or subject to outside approval. You cannot be serious, Cordelia said, still clutching her bitten hand.

 She is an omega with trauma. She has nothing. She is nothing. How can she possibly be Luna? She is someone who loves my children without condition, Caspian said firmly. She is someone who has survived horrible things and remained gentle. She is someone my children chose before I even understood why. And she is my mate chosen by the moon goddess.

 That is worth more than any title or status or political connection you could offer. Cordelia left and the nobles who had been waiting for Caspian to choose someone appropriate learned that he already had. The broken Omega who had applied for a nanny position had become Luna not through ambition or social climbing but through the simple act of loving three grieving children with authenticity they had recognized immediately.

The formal mating ceremony was small, witnessed primarily by the pups who had made this possible. When Caspian marked Ren as his mate, when the bond sealed fully and permanently, Ember and Ash and Brier stood beside them and cheered. They had chosen her first, had recognized what their father had taken longer to see, that the person they needed was not the one who performed motherhood perfectly, but the one who loved them imperfectly, but genuinely.

The Alpha King’s pups chose the broken Omega, and in doing so, they healed not just themselves, but their father and their new mother as well. Brokenness, it turned out, was not a disqualification for love. Sometimes it was exactly what made love possible, because only those who understood pain could truly appreciate the gift of gentleness, the power of staying, the miracle of being chosen despite and because of all the ways you had been damaged.

What did you think of the pups choosing Ren? Have you ever been chosen by someone when you thought you had nothing to offer? Drop your thoughts in the comments. And if you love this story of the broken omega who became a mother through love rather than biology, hit subscribe and join our pack.

 New stories drop every week celebrating wolves who heal through being needed, alpha kings who recognize authentic love, and children whose hearts know the truth before adults figure it out. Remember, being broken does not make you unworthy of love.

 Sometimes it makes you exactly the right person to love someone else who is broken. Did you want part two? Let me know in the comments.