Abandoned Wolf Pup A Teddy Bear Recorded All the Abandonment of His Dad Chapter 01

Abandoned Wolf Pup A Teddy Bear Recorded All the Abandonment of His Dad Chapter 01

When our pup Sammy suffered severe hemorrhage during retinal surgery, I failed to reach Benjamin for twelve whole hours.

He was busy accompanying an Omega she-wolf on her minimally invasive follow-up checkup.

That day, Sammy whispered a childish secret into his voice-recording teddy bear.

“Teddy, I don’t have a daddy anymore. Can you be my new daddy?”

During his follow-up checkup, the pack healer asked casually, “Where is your dad?”

Sammy brushed a hand over the gauze covering his eye and spoke softly.

“My daddy flew away. He went to Chloe’s house.”

Later on, the preschool hosted a parent-child speech contest for wolf pups. Sammy stepped up holding a photo that only had me and him in it. “I don’t have a dad. My daddy’s in a grave.”

Everyone present wiped their teary eyes, while I sat in the corner, dry-eyed.

Three months later, after Chloe left for advanced training with the Northern Pack, Benjamin finally condescended to come home and hold his own son.

Yet Sammy kept stacking blocks, staring at him with total unfamiliarity.

“Sir, please don’t step on my daddy’s grave.”

…

“Madison, this is completely absurd!”

Benjamin stood in the doorway of the pack house, his suit jacket slung over one forearm.

He had just returned from a top-tier medical symposium for werewolf ophthalmology specialists.

He still wore the gentle tiredness seen in his hospital promotional portraits.

Benjamin was the youngest department chief at Silverpine Pack’s elite private ophthalmology hospital—patient, soft-spoken, and so skilled that even the fussiest, most tearful wolf pups would lie perfectly still for him during retinal exams.

But right now, staring at the grave his own son had built out of toy blocks, barely contained rage simmered in his eyes.

The lopsided block grave sat on the carpet, topped with a tiny wooden cross.

Sammy squatted beside it, small hands curled protectively around his creation.

A post-op patch covered his right eye, and his teary left eye stared up at Benjamin.

He felt no fear, only utter unfamiliarity.

Benjamin took a step closer.

“Sammy, Daddy’s home.”

Sammy immediately scrambled to hide behind my legs.

“Sir, don’t step there.”

Benjamin’s expression darkened.

“What do you mean ‘sir’? I’m your dad.”

Sammy ducked his head and carefully straightened the tilted cross.

“My daddy’s inside that grave.”

Benjamin’s breathing grew heavy. His Alpha aura flared out of control for a split second, cold and biting as a bitter winter wind.

He snapped his gaze toward me, accusation sharp in his stare.

“What grave is he talking about? Madison, how could you fill our pup’s head with such nonsense? This is utterly malicious!”

In his abrupt movement, he knocked over the block pile, and the makeshift grave collapsed—crashing straight into the teddy bear beside it.

By chance, the impact hit the playback button.

Sammy’s soft, childish voice echoed clearly through the living room.

“Teddy, Daddy didn’t come again today. The pack healer said I need to be brave for surgery, but I’m not brave. Will you be my daddy?”

Silence crashed over the living room. Even Benjamin’s volatile Alpha aura froze mid-surge.

Three months earlier, Sammy was scheduled for retinal reconstructive surgery.

The day before the operation, Benjamin had personally promised him:

“I’ll be right there beside you when you go into surgery, son.”

That morning, Sammy clutched his teddy bear and sat on a bench outside the operating room, eyes fixed intently on the elevator doors.

Every time the elevator doors opened, he looked up hopefully.

“Mommy, is that Daddy?”

But Benjamin never showed up.

Right before they wheeled Sammy into the OR, he sent me text messages:

[Chloe has her minimally invasive procedure follow-up today.]

[She’s terrified of hospitals, so I’m going to stay with her.]

[Sammy’s got you there—he won’t miss me for this little while.]

Mid-surgery, Sammy’s choroidal vessel ruptured suddenly, causing severe intraoperative hemorrhage.

A nurse hurried out and asked me to sign supplementary treatment consent forms.

At the far end of the hallway, several resident physicians whispered amongst themselves.

As a she-wolf with extremely sharp hearing, I overheard them discussing Sammy’s condition.

“If only Dr. Benjamin was here—he’s the leading expert in this exact field.”

My hands trembled so much that I could hardly hold the pen.

I called Benjamin more than a dozen times, yet not a single call went through.

Twelve hours later, the surgery finally concluded, yet Benjamin still did not show up.

Sammy had woken up from anesthesia, his eyes swathed in bandages.

His first words were not a cry of pain.

He touched the gauze covering his face and asked me quietly.

“Mommy… can Daddy no longer see me?”