Morning light filtered through the curtains like a cruel reminder that the world kept turning, even when mine had stopped. I'd spent the night in the nursery with Ophelia, rocking her back to sleep whenever she stirred, my mind a battlefield of Sterling's betrayal and Senna's words echoing in my head. The warrior. Hold onto the warrior. But what warrior could survive this kind of devastation?
I heard the front door open, the sharp click of heels against the hardwood floors. My body tensed instinctively. Only one person in this pack wore shoes that announced their arrival like a declaration of war. Sterling's mother, the former Luna, strode into the pack house like she owned it—which, in her mind, she still did.
'Maren.' Her voice cut through the morning stillness like a blade. 'Where is my son?'
I emerged from the nursery, Ophelia still cradled in my arms. My eyes were raw from crying, my hair disheveled, my body aching with exhaustion. I must have looked like a ghost of the Luna I was supposed to be.
'He's not here,' I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes narrowed, taking in every detail of my disheveled appearance with thinly veiled disgust. 'Of course he's not. He's out doing what Alphas do while you... linger here. Looking like death itself.'
The venom in her voice was familiar, but this morning it cut deeper than ever. The former Luna stepped closer, her perfectly manicured hand reaching out to brush Ophelia's cheek in a gesture that might have seemed loving if not for the coldness in her eyes.
'A good Luna,' she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, 'should be grateful her Alpha still provides. Grateful his wolf still comes home, even if his heart finds comfort elsewhere.'
The words hit me like physical blows. I pressed my thumb against the mate mark on my neck, the habit now a painful reminder of everything I'd lost.
'His heart,' I repeated, my voice cracking. 'You know about... her?'
A cold smile curved her lips. 'I've known from the beginning. A mother knows these things. But I never thought you'd be so weak, so... unstable as to let it affect you this way.' Her gaze flicked to the dark circles under my eyes, the exhaustion etched into every line of my face. 'This is what drives men like Sterling to seek comfort elsewhere. Your weakness. Your depression. Your inability to fulfill your duties as Luna.'
Something broke inside me then. Not with a crash, but with a quiet, final click. I stopped crying. The tears that had been falling freely all night simply... stopped. In their place was something colder, harder. Something that felt like the first breath after nearly drowning.
I looked at Sterling's mother—really looked at her—and saw her clearly for the first time. Not as the former Luna, not as my mother-in-law, but as a woman who had spent her life enabling the very behavior that was destroying me.
'You're right,' I said, my voice steady now, almost calm. 'I have been weak.'
Her eyes widened slightly, surprised by my agreement.
'But not anymore.' I shifted Ophelia in my arms, her small weight grounding me. 'Thank you for making that clear.'
I turned away from her stunned silence and walked to the bathroom. The bottle of depression medication sat on the counter, a symbol of all the ways I'd tried to numb the pain instead of facing it. With one swift motion, I opened the window and threw it out, watching as the small white pills scattered across the pack house lawn like tiny stars.
I didn't need them anymore. I needed clarity. I needed purpose.
I returned to Sterling's office, my steps sure and deliberate. The notes were still scattered across the floor where I'd dropped them last night. Five hundred and twenty-one pieces of my mate's betrayal, each one soaked in jasmine and cedar.
I knelt down and began to gather them, one by one, my hands steady now. Each note I picked up felt like reclaiming a piece of my own story, like taking back the power he had stolen from me. I found a leather satchel in his desk drawer and carefully packed them inside, the scent of jasmine and cedar filling my nostrils.
'The Black Moon Pack Mate Ceremony,' I whispered to myself, remembering Fernanda's message on Sterling's phone. 'That's where you'll both be, isn't it?'
I closed the satchel with a snap, the sound final and decisive in the quiet office. For the first time in months, I felt something other than despair. I felt purpose. Cold, clear purpose.
