9. High Voltage

Alek stepped down as he picked something up only to show me the little Lyra itself.

If you never saw one you would actually believe it’s a small fuzzy pumsky but in reality it’s a small computer that has all of the answers of specialists to medically assist you.

Staying still Alek placed the Lyra beside me and it walked to rest itself on my lap when I felt a hand take mine and then I stayed speechless as I saw Alek kiss the knuckles of my hand.

“I have to leave for a while but I leave my best warriors to protect you, Lyra will be your comfort and when you feel ready to have me around again please tell Lyra, and I’ll be by your side in a matter of seconds.”

He let my hand slip slowly almost as if he didn’t want to leave me here alone with Lyra.

Alone now with nothing but my thoughts and the dull ache in my body, I felt the truth settle over me like ice. I was alone. Truly, utterly alone. And yet—I didn’t want to be. Not after everything I had endured, not after all the nights of pain and the mornings that began with emptiness.

I had no pup waiting for me at home. No small arms to cling to, no sounds for a voice to hear as it’s mama. What once felt like safety—my house, my workplace, my havens—were now hollow shells, nests of nightmares that swallowed every memory in shadow.

My eyes drifted to the card my mother had left for me. The letter. I wondered if I should read it now, when my heart was raw, or wait until I was stronger.

She had always been with me—through every storm, every heartbreak. And I had been with her, too, through the hardships she carried. But when she left this room earlier, she looked calmer than she had any right to. Too calm.

That calm stung me.

Anger flared, sharp and unexpected. How could they all take Zebasthian’s death so easily? How could anyone smile when the very ground under me had crumbled? The fury gave me strength I didn’t think I had. I pushed myself upright, the sheets falling around me, my chest burning with the need to act. I would find clothes. I would go to her. Or at the very least—I would call her and demand to know why she was smiling while I bled inside.

My hand shook as I tore the letter open. The paper trembled in my grip, my breath quickening as though I were bracing for another wound.

Beside me, Lyra padded forward, her tiny frame moving with surprising grace. She stood by the bed, her red eyes fixed attentively on me, as though she already knew what this moment meant.

I lowered my gaze back to the page, the first words blurring through tears as I began to read.

My dearest Michi,

To see you alive, breathing, and cared for—it is more than I dared to hope for. The weight I carry as your mother is heavy, but knowing you are under the watch of Alpha Alek gives me peace. He has given you what I could not in these moments: safety, rest, and protection. Please allow him to help you, even when it feels impossible to accept.

I know your heart is broken. Mine is too. The loss of your pup is a wound that will never fully heal, not for you, not for me. He was my first grandchild, my little one, and he was taken far too soon. Please don’t mistake my calm face as indifference—I ache for him every moment, just as you do.

But when I smiled as I left you, it was not to dishonor your pain. It was because, in the same breath of grief, I was given something to remind me life still moves forward. Your sister is with child—her first, with her fated mate. Enclosed is her sonogram, so you may see the new life growing within her. My happiness was not to lessen your sorrow, but because I realized I could carry both grief and hope in the same heart.

I will stand beside you in finding answers, in uncovering the truth of what happened to your baby. I will not rest until the guilty are named. But I also beg you to hold on, even in your darkest moments. Because one day, joy will return to you too, in a way that is yours alone.

Always,

Mother

Her words made me pick up the sonogram, and behind it I saw a baby shower date for the new pup on the way.

During my divorce, my sister had found her fated mate, and they had been married ever since. While she found love, I had only found breakups, abandonment, and loneliness.

All I had by my side was my pup. Because I chose to hide him, I thought no one could take him from me. But I was wrong.

That familiar feeling of being abandoned crept over me again—of not being enough, not worth the effort, not important, not desired, never what anyone truly wanted. The hollow pain it left inside me made me cry uncontrollably.

Why was it so easy for everyone to forget me? To leave me alone with only my pup, only for him to be taken from me permanently?

What did I ever do to deserve such a fated tragedy?

Every breath I took felt like one I didn’t deserve. My pup deserved it, not me. But he wasn’t alive anymore, and I had to face the unbearable truth that my life would not give me another chance to be his mother again.

Doniel wouldn’t have wanted this pup anyway, even if he hadn’t been diagnosed. He hated the idea of being a father to a boy—just as he had been hated, just as he had been disowned by his family for being born male when they had wanted daughters.

That truth made me hate myself for ever letting him into my bed, for not saying no.

And yet, if I had… I never would have had my pup at all.

The pain repeated like a vicious cycle, each wave sharper than the last. I was drowning in it, and the thought settled like a stone: maybe it wasn’t worth my life to stay alive anymore.

Numbness spread through me, a coldness that wasn’t just grief—it was the absence of everything except the desire to be with my pup again.

Then, I felt it. A small paw pressing gently against my thigh.

I looked down to see Lyra, her red eyes glowing faintly, watching me with a worried expression.

I stood, moving out of the bedroom and into the hallway, and she padded alongside me without hesitation, her tiny form steady at my side.

“Where are we going, Miss Michi?” she asked, her voice quiet, careful.

I couldn’t answer her. The truth was, I didn’t know where I was going. And I was afraid that if I told her, she would try to stop me from following the dark pull of my feelings.

As I kept walking, I saw a door with the glowing word Exit above it. My chest tightened, my steps heavier with each breath.

Lyra’s small voice rose behind me, trembling more than before.

“Miss… I don’t believe we are allowed to leave this house. Can we go back now? You can talk to me—it is not leaving us in any way. But if I cannot help you myself, I will have to inform someone, because you matter to all of us.”

Matter to all of us.

Those words sliced into me, and not the way she intended.

Matter to those who saw what?

Nobody had seen my son matter. Not a damn person had treated him as anything more than a “special child.” I had fought tooth and nail to give him joy in his difference, to prove his life was worth celebrating. And yet… no one lifted a hand for him unless I paid them to. Unless I broke myself working hours I didn’t have, dragging my body through shifts just to afford the specialists who would even look at him.

And now they dared to tell me I mattered?

But where the hell was that when my pup needed to matter?

Nobody said a damn thing for him. Nobody fought for him. Nobody cared—not the way I did, not enough to keep him alive.

The rage tore through me, hot and hollow, until my throat burned and my tears felt like fire.

The pain didn’t spill out in screams—it sank deeper, curling in on itself until it felt like my lungs couldn’t expand. My lips moved without sound, muttering fragments I didn’t even want Lyra to hear. Words like not enough, not worth it, not wanted.

Tears blurred the exit sign ahead of me until it was nothing but a red smear.

As I walked, the air grew colder. Winter was closer, and with it came the weight of despair that had been pressing inside me all along.

Feeling numb, detached from both body and heart, made it easier to accept something that wasn’t joy. Easier to lean into emptiness than to hold on to hope for something that was never going to happen.

Crossing into the cold air outside, my body began to lose feeling, and strangely… it felt peaceful. The kind of peace that came when there was nothing left to fight for.

Nobody would give a damn about my life anymore.

I had lived for my boy. Everything I did, every sacrifice I made, was for him. And he was murdered.

There was no reason for anyone to care about me now.

My sister would soon have a perfect baby, and she would be loved in ways I would never know—loved for being everything I was not, everything I could never achieve simply because I was me.

Behind me, the faint patter of tiny steps followed close. Then Lyra’s voice, soft but urgent, broke the silence.

“Miss Michi… your body temperature is dropping. I am worried.”

Her words barely reached me. I kept walking, staring ahead as though the exit sign could swallow me whole.

“Miss Michi,” she tried again, more fragile now, like a child who knew she wasn’t being heard. “You matter… not just to all of us, but to me. If you leave… I won’t know how to help anymore.”

Something in my chest tightened. For a moment, I almost faltered. Almost.

But the thoughts pressed harder—my son hadn’t mattered to anyone but me. Why should I matter now?

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Lyra hurried to my side, her small metal paw brushing against my leg, her glowing red eyes tilted up at me with worry that seemed too human for a machine.

“Please,” she whispered. “Stay.”

The word clung to me, fragile and trembling, as the cold pressed in deeper.

Just a few steps ahead, I saw it. The warning signs glowed on the fence—high voltage, danger of shock.

My breath caught. My body froze.

They say if you shock a car battery, it can reset. Start again.

And standing there, I couldn’t stop the thought from sinking in: maybe my life was no different. Maybe it had already ended, and all that was left was for me to jolt it into silence.

The numbness pressed deeper, and for a fleeting second, it almost felt like peace.

“Michi, no…”

Lyra’s voice quivered, more human than machine, as she hurried in front of me, her small frame shaking though she had no flesh to tremble. Her glowing red eyes flicked from the fence to me, wide with a fear that shouldn’t have been possible for something built of wires and steel.

“You are not a battery. You are not something to reset and throw away. Please… don’t leave me. Don’t leave us.”

Her paw pressed gently against my ankle, a touch so small it shouldn’t have mattered—but it did.

Her words didn’t erase the despair. They didn’t erase the pain. But they made it harder to move forward. Harder to take those last steps.

Because for the first time, I realized—even the smallest heart, even a little machine named Lyra—was terrified of losing me.