I stared at the ceiling of the infirmary, counting the cracks in the plaster as Garrett's voice washed over me. His words blurred together—excuses, justifications, empty promises. My body felt hollow, emptied of both life and hope.
"Emily, please look at me," he begged, his hand hovering above mine. "I didn't know—Eliana was hurt, I didn't think—"
"Don't." My voice came out stronger than I expected. "Don't you dare make excuses for choosing her while our son died."
The monitors beeped steadily, marking time in this sterile room that smelled of antiseptic and grief. Dr. Helena had stepped out, leaving us alone with the weight of what we'd lost.
"I made a mistake," Garrett whispered, his eyes red-rimmed. "I'll make it up to you. We can try again—"
"No." The word sliced through his pleas like a blade. "There is no trying again. There is no fixing this."
I turned to face him then, really look at him for the first time since he'd entered. His handsome face was haggard, his Alpha aura dimmed by the broken bond between us. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
"I, Emily Weaver," I began, my voice barely audible, "reject you—"
"Stop!" Garrett lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. "Don't say it. Please, Emily, don't say it."
I pulled away from his touch. "You rejected me first. When you chose her. When you let our son die alone."
"I didn't know," he repeated, desperation cracking his voice. "I didn't know he was dying."
"You didn't want to know." I met his gaze steadily. "You never wanted to know anything about me."
Something shifted in the air between us—the mate bond stretching thinner, fraying at the edges. Garrett staggered back as if physically struck, his hand clutching his chest.
"Emily," he gasped, "what have you done?"
"I've started what should have happened months ago." I turned away from him, unable to bear the sight of his pain when it was nothing compared to what I'd endured.
---
The storm came just after midnight, sheets of rain lashing against the windows of the infirmary. Thunder crashed overhead, drowning out the sound of my tears.
I waited until the night shift nurse left to check on other patients before sitting up. My body protested—weak from blood loss and grief—but determination pushed me forward.
"Come on," I whispered to my wolf. "We have to go."
She whimpered inside me, still mourning our lost pup, but found enough strength to help me stand.
The hospital gown stuck to my skin, damp with sweat and tears. I changed into the clothes Helena had left folded on a chair—simple jeans and a sweater that weren't mine but would do.
At the window, I hesitated. The rain poured down in torrents, but beyond the storm lay freedom.
"I'd rather die free than live another day in this prison," I told my reflection in the glass.
I slipped out the back entrance, the cold rain immediately soaking through my clothes. Mud splattered my legs as I stumbled toward the tree line, but I welcomed it—mud would mask my scent.
"Find me if you can," I whispered into the darkness, knowing Garrett would come looking once he discovered I was gone.
The northern border was days away on foot, especially in my weakened state. Everyone knew the Northern Frost Pack territory was inhospitable—a frozen wasteland where even wolves struggled to survive. But I had nothing left to lose.
---
Days blurred together as I pushed north, stealing food from abandoned cabins, sleeping in whatever shelter I could find. The fever came and went, my body fighting infection from the miscarriage. Each step was agony, each breath a reminder of what I'd lost.
The landscape grew harsher as I approached the northern border—trees thinning, grass giving way to rocky soil and eventually snow. The cold bit through my inadequate clothes, but I kept moving.
"One more step," I told myself as my vision began to blur. "One more."
The snow came faster now, swirling around me in a whiteout. My legs finally gave out, and I collapsed onto the frozen ground. The cold felt almost welcoming—a numbing balm to my broken heart.
"So this is how it ends," I murmured, watching snowflakes land on my eyelashes.
Through the haze of approaching unconsciousness, I heard it—the steady crunch of paws on snow. A massive black wolf emerged from the blizzard, its eyes gleaming like amber fire.
I didn't try to run. What was the point? Death had been chasing me since the moment I lost my son.
But instead of tearing into me as I expected, the wolf approached slowly. It lowered its great head and nudged my hand with its muzzle—gentle, almost tender.
"Please," I whispered, my voice fading as darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. "Just let me die in peace."
The last thing I saw before consciousness slipped away was the wolf's eyes—not cruel or hungry, but filled with something that looked almost like recognition.
