That night in the pack house, I was in the kitchen, finishing up dinner for Osmond and Elvie. She was lounging on the couch like she owned the place, flipping through her phone while Osmond’s favorite show played on the TV. I could hear her occasional giggles drifting in, each one grating on my nerves.
I tried to ignore it, focusing on the food instead. The smell of roasted chicken and herbs filled the air, but it didn’t feel comforting. Not with Elvie here.
The front door creaked open, and Osmond walked in, tossing a stack of papers onto the counter like they were nothing. “Hey,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just spent the day God-knows-where with her.
I glanced at the papers. The bold letters at the top read 'Wedding Invitation'. My stomach twisted.
Osmond tapped the stack with his fingers. “Look, Camille, we’re not doing this wedding with your family in the picture. I don’t have time for that drama. This is OUR day, so it’s gonna be a pack-only thing. Got it?”
I didn’t respond right away. His words hit harder than I expected. His tone was so matter-of-fact, like he was negotiating a business deal, not planning the most important day of our lives.
I swallowed, keeping my voice steady. “Fine,” I said after a long pause. “We’ll move the wedding up. Three days from now, right?”
Osmond’s eyes lit up, but not with excitement. It felt more like relief, like he’d just checked off a to-do list. “Exactly. No need for extra fuss. You’ll have your pack there, and we can call it done.”
“And my family?” I asked quietly, already knowing what he’d say.
His smile was thin and dismissive. “Better they stay out of it. The pack’s what matters now. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”
Elvie stretched lazily on the couch, chiming in with her syrupy tone. “He’s right, Camille. Family can be so… complicated. Besides, this way, you don’t have to worry about impressing anyone.”
I swallowed my frustration, forcing myself to turn back to the stove. The chicken was nearly done.
Osmond leaned against the counter, watching me with a frown. “You’re acting weird, Camille. What’s going on with you? This isn’t like you.”
I wanted to laugh at that. Of course, it wasn’t like me. The person I’d been—the one who trusted him, who believed in him—was gone. He just hadn’t noticed.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered, stirring the vegetables. “I’m fine.”
Elvie piped up again, smiling sweetly. “She’s probably just stressed. You know how weddings are. You’re supposed to be comforting her, not making it worse.”
“Comfort her?” Osmond snorted. “I’m not her therapist. I’ve got enough going on already.”
“Uh-huh,” Elvie said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want her backing out, though. That’d be a disaster for you.”
The words froze me in place. Back out? I hadn’t even considered it. But now, the thought sank in, heavy and cold.
Osmond laughed bitterly. “Back out? Seriously? Camille, you’re almost thirty. Who else is gonna marry you? You should be *thankful* it’s me.”
The sting of his words felt like a slap, but I kept my face neutral. “Thanks, Osmond,” I said flatly, barely above a whisper. “I’ll remember that.”
Elvie giggled from the couch, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You really should. A guy like Osmond doesn’t come around every day. You’re lucky, Camille.”
I bit my tongue, holding back the retort bubbling inside me. Instead, I plated the food in silence, placing it on the table.
Osmond barely glanced at it. “Actually,” he said, grabbing his coat, “we’re heading to Elvie’s place. She offered to cook tonight.”
“Yeah,” Elvie said, sliding off the couch and grabbing her purse. “You don’t mind, do you? Your food’s… nice, but I’m craving something different.”
I clenched my jaw but didn’t say a word. Osmond didn’t even bother looking at me before walking out the door with her.
As soon as they left, I went to my room and grabbed a suitcase. I didn’t cry, didn’t scream. I just started packing. Clothes, shoes, a few personal things. Six years with Osmond, and all I had to show for it were a few boxes of belongings and memories I was ready to leave behind.
That night, I slept alone in the pack house. No calls. No texts from Osmond. Just silence.
By morning, the courier arrived to pick up the boxes. I handed them over, feeling a strange sense of relief as he drove off. It was like a weight had been lifted, even if I wasn’t ready to admit why.
But just as I was about to lock the door behind me, Osmond burst in, panic all over his face. “What’s going on with all the boxes? What are you doing?”
I barely glanced at him. “Just sending some things to my parents. No big deal.”
He opened his mouth, about to argue, but his phone buzzed. Without thinking, he glanced at the notification.
I knew it was from Elvie. She’d posted just minutes earlier, hinting at a wild two-day hunting trip for Osmond before he ‘settled down.’ A celebration of his ‘last days of freedom,’ with her planning the whole thing.
