They Call Me Back, but I Was Gone

To help the pack build and sustain the blood station, I personally led blood donations twice a year without fail.

This time, after donating blood, my wolf felt lightheaded and weak, so I allowed myself a short rest at home.

But in less than half a day, I was bombarded with accusations from werewolf patients.

"You heartless she-wolf! All you know is how to enjoy yourself at home while ignoring patients who desperately need care! You should be held responsible for the lives lost because of your absence!"

"No wonder you didn't stay in your rich, well-organized home pack! You came here just because no one could control you—so you could lie in bed all day, doing nothing. Don't you feel ashamed taking the salary we give you while patients suffer?"

Watching those patients stirring up trouble from the infirmary all the way to my den, I could only let out a cold, bitter smile.

I never expected to be shamed like this—especially when my salary here is the lowest among all the packs. Most importantly, I stayed in the infirmary day and night, tirelessly healing patients with barely any rest.

Hearing their harsh accusations shattered me.

All the sleepless nights, all the care, all the sacrifices—I gave them everything, and this is how it ends?

My efforts, my loyalty... meant nothing to them.

It felt like they tore my heart out and crushed it underfoot.

"Director, I've only had one day off this entire year," I pleaded. "You know I work every single day, treating werewolf patients nonstop. Yesterday, I felt so dizzy I could barely stand... I just can't make it to the infirmary today."

My wolf was weak, her breathing shallow and ragged after donating too much blood. I took one day off—just one—to recover.

But within hours, nearly every werewolf patient began calling the medical center to accuse me of neglect. They slandered me, saying I did nothing but lie around in the infirmary all day like a lazy parasite.

I hadn't taken a single day off the entire previous year, but the director didn't care about my explanation. He coldly told me to deal with it on my own. They would "investigate" and inform me of the outcome later.

But what could I possibly do? My wolf was on the verge of collapse. If I kept pushing, she might not survive.

Just as I was caught in this helpless dilemma, a mob of patients stormed into my den, shouting and raising hell.

At the front of the crowd stood Jessica, an old she-wolf with fire in her eyes and venom on her tongue.. She shouted loudly, tears streaming down her face.

"Look at you! You're just enjoying yourself here, aren't you?! My grandson is waiting for you in the infirmary, but you don't even care if his wolf survives! Instead, you're just lying in your den, sleeping!"

I was still in a daze, trying to explain calmly,

"Madam, I only took one day off. If your grandson is seriously ill, you can bring him here and I'll see him."

But she didn't listen. She yanked the blankets off my body and tried to drag me out of bed.

"Look at you, giving out orders from bed like you're some kind of queen! You're too good to even show up at the infirmary now?"! Now you're even asking patients to come to your den for treatment? How ridiculous! You'd better come with me right now!"

But my wolf was far too weak. My body was drenched in sweat, and I couldn't even sit up, let alone stand.

Seeing that I wasn't moving, the other patients couldn't hold back anymore. One of them pointed at my nose and said sarcastically:

"Of course she's ignoring us—she always does! She just lies there pretending to be sick so we'll beg her. And maybe if we offer her some extra money, she'll magically get better and treat us right away!"

It was obvious what they meant—they were accusing me of faking my illness for personal gain.

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water straight into my chest. My heart went completely numb.

All these years, in order to keep the blood station running for the patients' sake, I donated blood twice a year, even though my wolf had been showing signs of breaking down. I spent nearly every waking hour in the infirmary, healing them.

Finally, I went back to see the healer in my own pack. She looked at me, horrified, and said:

"You're pushing your body too far. Donating blood this often is collapsing your wolf's core. You need to stop right now and take a long rest—if you don't, you will die."

So I took her advice, and for the first time in years—I took one day off.

Just one day.

And this… is how they treat me.

I was too aggrieved to even cry, but I gave up arguing with them—not because I agreed, but because I didn't know what else to say, and my body simply wouldn't allow me to fight back.

In a low, trembling voice—almost begging—I tried to explain:

"I'm like this because I donated too much blood. There isn't enough supply, and too few people are willing to give. I... I just took one day off… I promise, I'll return to the infirmary. I'll be there, on standby."

But Jessica wouldn't let it go. She kept yelling and shoved me rudely.

"Tomorrow? Do you think my grandson's wolf will survive until tomorrow with a sickness like this? You're coming to my den now! If you don't cure him properly, I'll report you to the Werewolf Council myself! I'll make sure you get punished!"

None of the others tried to stop her. They didn't care about my condition at all. Instead, they nearly dragged me out of bed like I was some criminal.

"Fine, I'll go," I said weakly. "But can you at least give me a moment to get dressed?"

My heart felt completely numb. Whatever hope I had left of being understood... was shattered.

But just as I got out of bed and reached for my clothes, they didn't even let me change. They dragged me out of my den like I was their servant.

When I got to the infirmary to grab my medical kit, they pulled me straight to the old she-wolf's den.

I examined her grandson carefully. He had a fever—his wolf's internal temperature was already at 110°F, and his body was trembling.

I gave my professional advice:

"He needs an immediate transfusion. His wolf is starting to lose control due to the fever."

But the moment I said that, it was as if I'd thrown a bomb into the room.