Rewind the clock.

A month ago, after receiving that call, the next day at work, a colleague from the medical department told me she was pregnant.

“I hope it’s a girl,” she said, resting her hand on her still-flat belly, her lips curved in a soft smile. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been craving oranges, so I think I’ll call her Orange.”

She was the most dedicated female werewolf at work. Yet, when she spoke of her child, her expression was a serene gentleness I had never seen before. Noticing me staring, she turned to me and asked, “Peaches, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shook...