Alpha's Regret: The Seventh Time was Forever-Chapter 65 – A birth mark

Seraphine had spent the entire drive quietly bracing herself for candlelight and polished silverware, for a romantic lunch tucked inside some quiet, expensive restaurant hidden in a sleek corner of Manhattan where conversations were low and intentional and waiters moved like shadows between tables.

She had imagined something soft and predictable, something that matched Leon’s polished image, something that would allow him to charm her properly over plated dishes and sparkling glasses.

Yeah, the was the usual way to woo a woman right? Just as the girls at the pack used to gist about. Except that, she wasn’t ready for any relationship either than friendship.

Leon surprised her by completely erasing her expectations when the car slowed in front of a wide open rehabilitation park, sunlight spilling across green lawns where movement looked different from what most people considered normal, yet just as powerful.

Children dotted the grounds in wheelchairs, some in braces, some guided carefully through exercises by therapists kneeling beside them on mats spread across the grass.

The air was alive with layered sound, laughter bursting out unexpectedly, the steady encouragement of professionals counting repetitions, parents murmuring reassurance with tired but hopeful voices that carried both exhaustion and faith.

Seraphine blinked, momentarily disoriented, her expectations dissolving in the face of something far more raw and real than white tablecloths.

"This is where I spend my free hours," Leon explained, his tone noticeably softer than it had been earlier, the playful edge smoothed away by something sincere.

He shifted the gear into park and looked at her properly, not performing now, not posturing. "I thought if we’re going to make an appearance together, you should know this side of me."

Her breath caught before she could stop it. She had not expected this, not from him, not from someone who wore confidence so easily.

The laughter of children mixed with the steady rhythm of therapists guiding limbs, counting steps, correcting posture, praising progress no matter how small.

Parents hovered nearby with hands half-raised, always ready to catch, always ready to encourage, their faces etched with a permanent mix of fatigue and stubborn hope.

Leon stepped out first and walked around to open her door, the gesture still present but quieter now, less about charm and more about intention.

"This is the reason I want you on board," he said once she stood beside him, gesturing toward the spread of life unfolding before them.

"Even if it’s only a few hours here, or at the hospital, or both, I don’t mind how you structure it. I just need you on board. Your skills, your experience, the way you see things differently."

Seraphine stared at him for a moment, something inside her fluctuating. He was not here to impress her with luxury, not here to parade her around like a trophy doctor, not here to toast her over champagne.

He had brought her somewhere that mattered to him. He wanted her to see his world not at its glossiest, but at its most vulnerable.

The sight of the children struck deeper than she expected. Each small body working through recovery, each determined face pushing past pain, each parent watching like the next breath depended on progress.

A quiet ache surfaced in her chest, familiar and sharp. Her child. The baby she never got the chance to hold in her arms. The daughter whose face she had not even seen, and not knowing where she was, and not knowing who held her now, meant she could be anywhere, even here among these children fighting their own battles.

"Fine," she said finally, though her voice was softer than usual. "I’ll think about it."

A rare smile broke across Leon’s face, unguarded and almost boyish, and as they walked deeper into the park, the children who were strong enough began to move toward him the moment they spotted him.

"Uncle Leon!" one shouted, wheels squeaking as a wheelchair spun slightly too fast across the pavement. "Are you getting us ice cream today?"

Leon laughed, the sound warm and genuine, dropping down into a squat so he was eye-level with them, pulling two of them into a quick embrace without hesitation.

"Sweet things come after proper meals," he teased, tapping one boy lightly on the nose. "But I brought a friend today." He turned slightly and gestured toward Seraphine. "She’s also a doctor, and her name is Sera."

"She’s so pretty," a boy with crutches blurted out without filter, his cheeks flushing the second the words left his mouth.

Almost instinctively, Seraphine knelt beside him, lowering herself into his world instead of towering over it. "What’s your name?" she asked gently, her tone already shifting into the steady warmth of a physician who understood that trust was built through posture as much as words.

"Daniel," he replied shyly, adjusting his grip on the crutches.

His mother approached, offering a polite nod. "He’s recovering from a femur fracture," she explained, worry lingering in her eyes despite the progress he had clearly made.

Leon had already been claimed by a cluster of other children, his attention divided with surprising ease, leaving Seraphine space to blend in naturally rather than stand as a guest.

She examined Daniel’s stance briefly, her eyes assessing alignment and balance. "Try letting him take a few steps without the crutches between sessions," she suggested gently to his mother. "Short distances, supervised, with proper rest in between. His confidence needs training just as much as his muscles do."

Gratitude flooded the woman’s face almost instantly. "Thank you."

A few steps away, a little girl tugged gently at the hem of Seraphine’s sleeve, her small fingers curling into the fabric with shy determination. Her hair was styled in playful puffs that bounced when she shifted her weight, and one delicate arm rested carefully inside a supportive brace that looked slightly too big for her thin frame.

There was a fierceness in her eyes though, something bright and stubborn that did not match the fragility of her posture.

"I’m learning to write again," she announced proudly, lifting a sheet of paper toward Seraphine as if presenting treasure. The letters were uneven, some leaning too far left, others stretched awkwardly across the lines, but every stroke carried effort. "My name is Joyce."

Seraphine smiled at first, ready to kneel again, ready to praise her the way she had done with the others, ready to encourage another small victory.

Then she saw it. Just beneath the sleeve of the brace, where the fabric shifted slightly as Joyce lifted her arm higher, there it was. A small crescent-shaped birthmark resting against the soft brown of her skin, curved almost delicately near her upper forearm.

The world tilted. Seraphine froze mid-breath, her lungs refusing to expand, her heart slamming so violently against her ribs that for a second she thought someone else might hear it. She looked around. Whoever came with Joyce, must have a story to tell. "Joyce, where is your mother?"