Rosalie
The men in white weren’t hospital personnel. They weren’t doctors at all. I realized it the moment I noticed the emblem stitched onto their uniforms and heard one of them murmur under his breath, “Be careful, she’s resisting.”
Resisting? Of course I was resisting.
“She’s an alcoholic who’s already put lives at risk,” Cedric said behind me, his tone flat and decisive. “Send her to rehab. Keep her there until she’s stable.”
He spoke like he was finalizing a contract, not deciding the course of my life.
“No!” I screamed, struggling against the restraints on my wrists. “I’m not an alcoholic! I only drank because Julian—”
My voice broke. The words I needed—Julian is dead—never made it out. Before I could say anything more, Vivian stepped in exactly as if she had been waiting for her cue.
She lifted a hand to her mouth and sobbed softly. “Rosalie… please. This is for your own good.”
“You’re lying!” I snapped at her. “You were the one driving that night. You—”
“Please don’t agitate the patient,” one of the staff said under his breath.
Vivian moved closer, tears streaming down her face so flawlessly it almost felt rehearsed.
“I was the one who suggested this to Alpha Cedric,” she said gently, as though she were offering kindness instead of destruction. “Think about your son. He wouldn’t want a mother like this… right?”
Her words cut deeper than anything physical ever could.
I fought harder against the straps. “You liar! I’m not an alcoholic! You were driving—you killed—”
The needle went into my arm before I could finish. Coldness spread instantly through my veins.
My strength drained. My vision wavered. The last thing I saw was Vivian clinging to Cedric’s arm while he looked at me with a gaze full of disappointment.
**
When I woke again, the room wasn’t a hospital ward. It was worse—sterile, bare, and suffocating in its emptiness.
White walls without warmth. A barred window. A locked door.
A rehabilitation center.
A cage.
I asked for my phone first. They refused. I asked to make a call. They refused again.
“Alpha Cedric arranged everything,” a nurse said carefully, almost apologetic. “No outside contact for now.”
For now.
They spoke as if I were dangerous. As if I needed to be contained.
Meanwhile, my son’s body was still lying in a hospital somewhere. Unclaimed. Without a funeral. Without goodbye. And I was locked away because my husband chose to believe her over me.
At first, I fought constantly. I screamed, demanded, argued. Every outburst was recorded, every protest labeled as “aggressive behavior.”
Eventually, I learned to stop shouting.
Silence became survival—but it never meant surrender. The rage stayed, simmering just beneath the surface, keeping me awake, keeping me alive.
At night, when everything was quiet, I would lie staring at the ceiling, imagining Julian’s small hands reaching for me. I remembered how he used to slip into my bed after nightmares, curling into my side like I could protect him from anything.
And then I would see it again—the flat line on the monitor.
That was always when the anger returned, sharp and steady.
They thought this place would break me. They were wrong. It was reshaping me into something colder.
**
Days later, I was told I had a visitor. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
When I was led into the visitation room, my breath caught.
Celine.
The nurse from the hospital.
She rushed forward the moment the guard stepped back.
“Rosalie…” she whispered, eyes glossy with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
Seeing her—the only person who had been there when everything fell apart—nearly cracked the fragile control I’d built around myself.
“Celine,” I said softly. “Please… tell me. My son…”
Her gaze dropped.
“They still haven’t released him,” she said quietly. “Because of the bill…”
I swallowed hard, forcing the pain down. “Help me,” I pleaded, gripping her hands across the table. “Please, don’t let Cedric or Vivian go near him. They don’t deserve him. They don’t deserve any part of him.”
Celine’s tears fell freely now. “I won’t let them,” she promised. “I’ll do everything I can.”
“Please,” I whispered. “He’s all I have left.”
The guard signaled the end of the visit. As she was taken away, I held onto those words like a lifeline. For the first time since everything shattered, I had something resembling hope.
**
A week later, Alpha Cedric arrived.
The staff straightened immediately, as if royalty had entered the building.
He walked in looking irritated, already impatient before he even spoke.
“Where is my son?” he demanded.
My son.
Now he called him his.
The word burned in my throat, but I stayed silent. I couldn’t afford to lose control.
He stepped closer to the table. “Rosalie. Where is Julian?”
“You have no right to keep him from me,” he continued sharply. “Did you send him to Ashmoon Pack? To your parents?”
At the mention of Ashmoon Pack, something tightened in my chest. The family I had abandoned for him.
“Did you hide him there?” he snapped.
I met his eyes calmly. “Why don’t you ask Vivian?” I said evenly. “She seems to know everything. And you seem to believe her every word.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he might explode. Instead, he slammed his palm onto the table and walked out without another word.
Not long after, Vivian came.
She brought Aiden with her.
The boy looked perfectly fine—no injuries, no bandages, no limp. Nothing to match the tragedy they had described.
She sat across from me, her expression soft and pitiful.
“Poor thing,” she said lightly. “I told you… you should’ve controlled your drinking.”
She was provoking me. Testing me. I refused to give her the reaction she wanted, keeping my hands still on the table.
Aiden climbed onto the chair beside her, swinging his legs. That was when I saw it.
A teddy bear in his arms.
Brown. Worn. One ear loosely stitched.
My breath caught violently.
On its paw, faint but unmistakable, was a stitched name.
Julian.
My body moved before I could think. I stood so fast the chair scraped harshly against the floor. I reached across and grabbed the bear.
“That’s mine!” Aiden cried immediately, breaking into loud sobs.
“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “This belongs to Julian. This is my son’s.”
Vivian’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “Rosalie, what are you doing? Give it back!”
“It’s his!” I shouted. “It was the only thing he ever held—his favorite—”
The last thing he touched.
Vivian rose quickly, trying to pull it from me. “Are you insane? He’s just a child!”
Heavy footsteps echoed behind us.
Alpha Cedric entered.
Of course he did—like this was some twisted family scene he belonged in.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
Aiden immediately ran to him, crying. “Daddy! She stole my bear!”
Vivian stepped in beside Cedric, wrapping an arm around the boy.
“Rosalie took it from him,” she said tearfully. “He’s already traumatized enough.”
Cedric’s gaze snapped to me. “It’s just a damn toy,” he said sharply.
“It’s Julian’s,” I said quietly. “It belonged to him.”
“I gave Aiden his things,” he replied coldly. “You were hiding him anyway. Those toys were just cluttering the packhouse.”
Cluttering.
My son’s things. Reduced to clutter.
Something inside me broke.
“Those were his!” I shouted. “You had no right!”
I wanted to tell him it was the last thing Julian ever held. That he died with it. But the words lodged in my throat.
Then Vivian reached again. “Give it back,” she hissed, her tears gone.
“No,” I said firmly, gripping it tighter.
Cedric lost what little patience he had left.
“For Goddess’ sake,” he muttered, stepping forward and grabbing the bear himself.
For a moment, all three of us pulled at it.
Then—
A sharp rip.
The fabric tore straight down the middle. Stuffing spilled out like snow. The bear split into two uneven halves.
Silence fell instantly.
I stared at what remained in Cedric’s hands.
It felt exactly like my chest—ripped open, hollow, irreparable.
Aiden cried louder. Vivian gasped dramatically. Cedric looked annoyed.
But all I could see was Julian’s name, now divided by a jagged tear.
And just like that, even the last piece of him was gone.
