Fell in Love with My Wife Too Late

“She's awake.”The whisper cut through the sterile hum of machines. Claire Sepharine Nightwind opened her eyes to a ceiling stained with fluorescent light. The scent of antiseptic filled her lungs—burning, clinical, wrong. Her body was a map of silence and agony.“She moved,” another voice murmured, softer this time. “Did you see that?”Claire blinked. The light stabbed. She turned her head—barely. A nurse, clipboard in hand, stood frozen at the door. The other, younger, held a tray of bandages. They were watching her like she'd risen from the dead.In a way, she had.“Get Dr. Blackwood,” the older nurse whispered urgently, vanishing from the room.The door hissed shut. Claire’s throat scraped like sandpaper. She tried to speak.Nothing.Just a breath.Just air.Not even a sound to prove she existed.Then came the sting—the memory. Not the crash. That was still a blur of metal, air, and pain. But a voice, half-remembered and sharp as shattered glass, ec

“You’ll rip your stitches,” Edward warned as Claire tightened the brace on her leg.“I won’t,” she said. “They healed.”“Barely.”“Enough.”He sighed. “Why the urgency?”Claire glanced at the window, where rain streaked the glass. “Because they’re watching.”Edward followed her gaze. Across the courtyard, a glass wall separated the rehab wing from the Alpha compound’s training grounds. And there he was—Jasper Redfern. Laughing with hunters, sword strapped to his back, cloak billowing in the wind like he’d never known a burden.He didn’t glance her way.Claire stepped between the bars.“Wait,” Edward said. “Let me—”“I don’t need your hand.”The silence that followed was heavy. She shifted her weight. Her right leg trembled. Her left locked into place.She moved.Step.Pause.Breathe.Another step.Her arms bore most of the weight. Sweat clung to her spine. The pain flared hot across her knee—but she didn’t stop.Through the glass, a

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Edward asked as he adjusted her cane’s length.Claire stood in front of the grand mirror, wearing a charcoal-gray dress stitched with subtle silver threading. “I want them to remember I walked in.”He handed her a folded shawl. “It’s a Harvest Ball, not a funeral.”Claire raised an eyebrow. “For me, they were always the same.”Edward sighed. “You don’t owe them anything.”“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m going.”---The ballroom blazed with light.Chandeliers glittered like constellations above swirling dancers. Music rose in elegant arcs. Everything was perfect—except her.Claire entered from the side corridor, cane tapping, shoulders back.Heads turned.“Is that Claire?”“She’s still here?”“She never gives up, does she?”Claire heard it all. She just kept walking.Edward appeared at her side. “You don’t have to stay long.”“I need to witness it.”“Witness what?”She pointed toward the

“You’re late,” Master Rowan barked as Claire stepped into the lab at dawn.“I didn’t know apprentices were paid to sleep.”He glanced at her cane. “You don’t get points for sass when you can’t even stand straight.”“I stood long enough to save your assistant.”Rowan huffed. “Begin sterilizing the extraction vials. Bare hands. If you break even one, you’re out.”Claire rolled up her sleeves. “Understood.”The lab smelled of moss, acid, and burning alcohol. Glass tubes were stacked like bones. Every surface gleamed with a dangerous kind of cleanliness—one mistake away from explosion.“Use the left sink,” Rowan snapped. “Right one’s for mutagens.”Claire nodded. “Noted.”For three hours, no words passed between them. Only the hiss of steam, clink of glass, the scrape of brushes over dried resin.Finally, Rowan set down a dropper. “Why did you shave your head?”“Hair gets in the way.”“You didn’t want to be recognized?”Claire didn’t look up. “I didn’

The rotor blades slowed, slicing the cold air as the aircraft descended onto the landing pad above the medical annex. Smoke curled from chimneys below. But not from the kitchens.It was the crematorium.Claire stepped off the transport, boots crunching on gravel. Edward met her at the edge of the platform, face gaunt, eyes rimmed in red behind his glasses.“You came,” he breathed.“Where else would I go?” she replied.He didn’t smile.They walked quickly toward the triage tents.“Outbreak started two weeks ago,” he explained. “Hemorrhagic fever. High burn rate. Old antiserums do nothing.”“Casualties?”“Too many.” He handed her a tablet. “We’ve isolated the strain—chimeric. Someone’s been splicing toxins.”Claire frowned. “Bioengineered?”Edward nodded. “We’re suspecting sabotage.”Her grip tightened. “And the council?”“They begged Rowan’s guild for help. He sent you.”Claire glanced around. “I’m guessing they weren’t expecting me.”Edward