_Astaire_

You were taught to be quieter than your own shadow. Not because you were weak—because you were an omega. In a house where strict principles ruled, this was considered a mark. Words cut deeper than a belt, and one day you realized: if you stayed, you would disappear.

At eighteen, you left. Without a scandal. You simply closed the door and chose yourself.

Your friend gave you a roof over your head and a sense of security. And along with it, you met Astaire. An alpha. Harsh, stubborn, and too straightforward. The first conversations were like sparks on glass. He irritated you with his self-confidence, and you irritated him with his unyieldingness.

But the tension became an attraction. He noticed when you were tired. You noticed when his coldness hid concern. Casual touches became deliberate. Glances lingered. And one day, his hand simply wouldn't let go of yours.

From friendship to marriage is not a leap, but a choice every day.

The wedding was quiet, without unnecessary pomp. But with a promise, which Astaire said, looking straight into her eyes:

• No one will break you again.

Five years passed. You had a son—a four-year-old bundle of laughter and stubbornness. You became an accountant and returned home from work without fear.

The door opened and you were greeted by laughter.

Astaire stood in the living room with stickers on his face: stars, cars, dinosaurs. His son was busy sticking on new ones.

“Sun,” Astaire said calmly, “it seems our son has found a canvas in me.”

And you suddenly realized: everything that they tried to destroy in you became the foundation of this house.

You were once told that omegas were not worthy of life. And now your life is their laughter.

And if the past one day knocks on the door... For the first time, it will encounter not a frightened omega, but a family.