Love After Loss

It was drizzling when I headed to the infirmary.

Allison Payne, the healer, was a kind-looking, middle-aged woman. As she glanced at the results on the computer, her expression softened with sympathy.

"Sherry," she said gently. "Based on this, I recommend you be admitted for a marrow purification treatment."

I pressed my lips together and said nothing.

She patted my hand and continued, "It's okay if you don't want to. It's an aggressive treatment, and honestly, it's really painful. I'll prescribe something to you to manage the wolfsbane fever instead.

"Just keep in mind, the onset of the fever is closely tied to your emotional state. The more depressed you get, the deeper the poisoning runs. That's when the self-harming starts. Your real issue seems to be with your family. If it's possible, you should talk to them."

Talk to them? They didn't even like talking to me.

I twisted my fingers together instinctively. The skin felt rough as it was covered in old scars.

Just as I was about to leave, Allison glanced at me and added, "I remember your fated mate. He's always been so loving. He stuck with you through every treatment, didn't he? Love and support are the best medicine. Spend more time with him. That could help you heal too."

But Allison didn't know that my fated mate didn't seem to want to stay by my side anymore.

Samuel Carver and I had been in love for a year, and I had been claimed as his mate for three months now.

Two years ago, I missed calls from my sister, Cherry Nicholson. She took her own life that same night.

Mom screamed that I was a murderer. She threw things at me—plates, shoes, anything she could get her hands on. When she got tired of throwing, she used her fists instead.

Her voice still haunted me, like a curse carved into my memory. "It should've been you, not her."

That same year, I was diagnosed with wolfsbane fever, and I broke down sobbing by the side of the road.

People stared, whispered, then walked right past me like I didn't exist.

Only Samuel stood in front of me with an umbrella and handed me a clean handkerchief. Smiling, he said, "A face this pretty shouldn't be crying."

I snapped out of the memory and grabbed my phone to call Samuel repeatedly.

He didn't answer.

The automated voice on the other end kept repeating the same message, drilling into my nerves.

Eventually, I hung up and dragged myself home.

…

When I reached home, I noticed that the front door was wide open.

I thought maybe Samuel had come back. I was about to call out his name, but the words died in my throat.

The place was a mess, and everything was knocked over.

I froze, about to call the enforcers, when I saw someone coming down the stairs.

It was Mom, whom I hadn't seen in a long time. She was holding a photo frame that looked all too familiar in her hands.

There was a flicker of something in her eyes when she saw me, then she raised her arms and hurled the frame straight at me.

It hit the floor, and the glass shattered at my feet.

When she saw I wasn't hurt, she lunged at me, grabbed my hair, and began punching.

Her face twisted with rage. She kept repeating in a frantic, broken voice, "You think you deserve a bonding ceremony with someone you love? You? You killed Cherry with your own hands!

"You should rot in hell. You don't deserve to be happy! Why? Why wasn't it you who died?"

I didn't dare fight back. I just covered my head and let her rage. Every cruel word hit like a blade, sinking deep into my chest.

The crushing weight of despair was almost unbearable. I clutched my ears, whispering to myself that I couldn't die. I promised Cherry.

I didn't know how long the blows kept coming, but eventually, a maid rushed in and pulled her off me.

The maid kneeled beside me and asked if I was okay.

That was when I finally blinked back to the present. With trembling hands, I dug through my bag for my medicine.

However, I couldn't find it.

Just then, a pair of polished leather shoes stepped into my vision.

Cold liquid splashed over my head, soaking my hair and running down my face before hitting the floor with a soft patter.

I froze and looked up.

Samuel looked down at me, holding the empty vial in his hand. His smile was cold and cruel as he looked at me.

"Lick it," he demanded.