No matter how many times I do the math, no matter how I shuffle the numbers and fudge with my margins of error, the result is the same.

I just can't swing it.

I shut my laptop with a sigh and bury my face in my hands. I'd spent the afternoon at the kitchen table, working at the problem, but the solution eludes me.

Flora and Miguel's birthday is a month away, and they have their hearts set on a Nintendo Switch.

I knew they each wanted their own console, but they hadn't asked for that. Instead, they'd asked for one, to share, and they hadn't even picked out the priciest model.

It's not as if they'd demanded it, either. I'd asked what sort of gifts they wanted, and given them a reasonable price range for my means and their age. Their single, combined request was actually less than the sum of my offer. Unfortunately, that offer was made before prices rose, and before several bills came due, and before I'd made critical home repairs.

What had seemed perfectly reasonable then now seemed entirely beyond my reach.

They wouldn't complain—even if all they got was a birthday card and a hug. The thing is I don't want to disappoint them.

Elena hadn't believed in birthdays and presents. She'd said it would spoil them and make them feel entitled to rewards. I'd still slip in little surprises when I could—a stop at the bakery for cookies or cupcakes, or an impromptu trip to the zoo. I'd learned not to give them things she could take away.

Now we're free to celebrate, and I'm free to spoil them as I wish. I know money can't buy happiness, but I want to see their smiles and excitement when they unwrap that gift. I want to give them what they want. I want them to be happy.

Suddenly exhausted, I rest my head on my folded arms and shut my eyes.

I want to be happy, too.

∼∼∼

"Daddy?"

I snort and sit up, confusion fogging my brain. Flora stands at my side, her hand on my shoulder and a little moue of concern on her lips. I must have fallen asleep.

"What is it, sweetheart? Where are the others?"

"Nico and Rio are watching cartoons, and Miguel's in his room. I told them to be quiet and not to bother you, only..." She chews her bottom lip. "You were crying again, so I thought you might want to wake up."

I look away and wipe my hands over my face, ashamed to feel the tell-tale wetness there. A father crying in his sleep isn't something an eleven-year-old should witness, much less 'again.'

"Sorry, sweetie. I must have something in my eye."

"It's okay," she says, not at all fooled by my lame excuse. "I cry sometimes, too."

"You do?" I sniff and swipe my sleeve across my nose before giving her a reassuring smile. "It's good to cry sometimes. But if you're really sad, you can always tell me, you know."

"I know. You can tell me if you're sad, too."

"Yeah?"

She nods sagely. "Do you miss Mommy?"

My smile falters. I clear my throat carefully. "Do you miss her?"

"No." Flora's dark eyes hold more knowledge and understanding than they should for her age, and her simple sincerity leaves no room for doubt. "I think Nico and Rio do, sometimes, but they don't remember how...."

She leaves the rest unsaid, but understood, nonetheless.

How she hurt you.

My eyes sting again, and I blink rapidly as I push out my chair and stand, stretching the tension from my back and checking the time on my phone. I'd been asleep almost an hour.

"What do you say to macaroni and cheese for dinner?" I ask, changing the subject. "Buttered peas on the side?"

Flora brightens, her mood shifting as easily as a breeze—for which I'm grateful. "Sure! Can I help?"

I smile. "Sure. I'd love some help."

∼∼∼

Thursday afternoon is our bi-weekly appointment with Dr. Vance. Over the course of an hour, she talks to each of the kids, then to all of us as a group. Nico and Rio enjoy it, fascinated by the interesting toys Doctor Vance lets them play with, but Flora and Miguel understand why we're there.

Unless Wolves want to live in weird communes, completely cut off from the human world, we have to live by human rules. We pay our taxes, and send our kids to school; we go to work, and abide by the law. And yes, sometimes we go to family therapy.

It was a strange, fine line we walked at times. I'd told the kids they could tell Dr. Vance anything—except that we were Wolves. Every session left me wracked with anxiety, afraid that one of the kids would let it slip, or say something darkly misleading, like, 'Daddy said not to tell.'

Something that would get them taken away from me.

And yet, the sessions themselves were obviously helping, and as long as the kids didn't hate it, I'd determined they'd continue to go until Dr. Vance said they didn't need to anymore. She's sharp and empathetic, and the kids trust her.

I trust her, too. So, when she calls me into her office after the kids' sessions, my guard is only half as high as usual, despite my anxiety.

"Rob, can you keep an eye on this crew? I only need a few minutes," she says, addressing her receptionist and waving at my kids, who are happily absorbed with the Playstation in the waiting room.

The man gives her a look that clearly says, 'I'm a receptionist, not a babysitter," but nods.

"Shall we?"

She gestures, and I follow her into her spacious office, full of natural light and a jungle of potted plants.

"Is it Miguel?" I ask, as soon as the door is closed. "He's been a little moody, but I think that's just hormones. He's at that age, and—"

Dr. Vance holds up a hand, commanding silence.

"Miguel is fine," she says. "In fact, I'd say that all of your children are doing just 'fine,' whatever that means, these days. It's actually you I'm concerned for. Flora says you've been unusually tired lately, and I noticed you fell asleep in the waiting room."

I open my mouth, then blink as no good response rises to my lips. I hadn't expected to defend myself.

"I've been busy," I say, shrugging. "Not enough hours in the day."

Dr. Vance frowns. "You obviously love your children, Martin. I've never doubted that. But you need to take care of yourself, too. Have you considered seeing someone?"

I choke on a laugh. "I'm not exactly in the market for romance."

"I don't mean romantically," Dr. Vance says dryly. "I mean a professional. A therapist."

I rub my eyes and shake my head. "I'm seeing you."

"No. Your children are seeing me. My specialty is children, not adults. I can recommend a colleague, if you want. Someone with a background in domestic violence."

I stand, maybe a little too quickly, and turn away as a wave of dizziness spins my head. Catching myself against the back of the chair, I rub my brow.

"I don't need to see anyone. I just need my kids to be okay, and a little more time to get settled. I'm sorry if I've worried Flora. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Martin, that's not—"

"Thank you, Dr. Vance. We'll see you in two weeks."

I head for the door, struggling to keep my stride steady and on course, and I'm grateful when she doesn't follow me. In the waiting room, the kids are enthralled by the game console, and it takes a few tries to get their attention. When I do, Flora and Miguel dutifully wrest the controllers from the younger pair, promising to let them play on their coveted Switch, when they get it, and we make it out of the building without incident.

We always get pizza on the walk home—a little extra treat to reinforce a positive association—and so we stop at Santo's By-the-Slice as usual.

As the kids each select their choice from the menu, numbers dance before my eyes, and when the guy at the register asks what I'll have, I just smile and wave my hand.

None for me, thanks.

"Aren't you hungry, Dad?" Miguel asks, as he helps Nico fill his cup at the soda fountain.

I shake my head. "Nah. I ate a big lunch. I'll have some healthy adult food later. Some raw kale, or steamed tofu, or—"

"Eww!" Rio howls with delighted disgust.

A lively discussion ensues as everyone tries to name the worst 'healthy' food they can think of—most of which they've tried first-hand courtesy of my brother, Monty: the only vegetarian werewolf I know.

Meanwhile, I resolve that Flora and Miguel will have the best birthday I can give them. It will just take a little creative math, on my part.

I smile as the kids eat their pizza, enjoying the carefree music of their laughter. Sometimes we have to play by human rules, but there are some things only Wolves understand.

∼∼∼

"We're still going to the lake tomorrow, right, Dad?"

It's Friday at last, and after a long week, I'd planned to use Saturday to catch up on work. I'd completely forgotten about my promise to take the kids fishing.

I turn from the sink, where I'd been washing up after dinner, and find Flora watching me, an empty glass in her hand. From the living room, the sound of the kids watching Encanto for the millionth time soothes my nerves.

"Of course we're going," I say, dredging up a smile. "A promise is a promise."

Flora's expression brightens with excitement and she grins, showing off the gaps from the last of her baby teeth. "Yay! I can't wait to try out the new lure Mr. Foley gave me. He says he gets lucky with it every time."

"Every time, huh?" I can't help laughing. My brother's pack includes a ramshackle bunch, including Ian Foley—a bear shifter who, I assume, knows his way around a fishing lure.

"Yep. And he showed me how to side cast!"

She demonstrates the motion, and a more genuine smile expresses itself upon my lips.

"You'll teach me, too, right?"

"Silly Daddy," She giggles as she opens the fridge and refills her glass from a container of juice. "You're supposed to teach me."

Bouncing with excitement, she dashes back to the living room as her favorite song starts.

Alone again, I reach for the sponge when the ache behind my ribs sharpens suddenly. Gasping, I grasp the edges of the sink as the muscles around my lungs tighten until it's hard to draw breath.

Maintaining my calm, I watch as the sponge floats between the dirty dishes like a ship among sudsy icebergs, waiting for the sensation to pass.

At last, the pain recedes, and I hang my head and release a shaky breath as the tension between my shoulder eases.

It's nothing new. If I were a normal guy, I'd have gone to a doctor by now. But I'm not a 'normal guy.'

I'm a Wolf, and I know well enough what's wrong with me.

I'll be alright. Sure, I lost my Mate, but I still have something to live for.

Four things, in fact, who are all laughing and eating popcorn right now.

They're happy, and that's all that matters.

I'll do a few extra hours of work before bed, and we'll go to the lake in the morning.

The kids will be happy, and everything will be just fine.