My Reborn Daughter Changes My Life

My daughter, Lyra Dwyer, was the one who told me about Kael Dwyer's betrayal. She was only five years old, having just completed her pup initiation ceremony.

That day, she came back and walked straight up to me.

"Mom, Dad's wolf has been tainted by another she-wolf."

I was polishing the ritual silverware; my hand paused for a heartbeat before I continued, "Don't talk nonsense, Lyra."

"I'm not." She climbed onto the high stool, swinging her legs. "I saw him at the market outside the territory today. He was holding hands with a she-wolf. She had long black hair and was wearing a moon-white dress."

I threw the polishing cloth into the basin, splashing water all over my hands. "You saw wrong."

"I didn't." Lyra jumped down from the stool. She walked over and looked up into my face. "Mom, cry. Let your wolf cry. It'll make you feel better."

Instead of crying, I laughed. "You little pup. You must have been listening to the elder's theatrical tales again, haven't you?"

She shook her head and reached out to take my hand. Her palm was so small, her skin so soft.

"Mom, I'm not a pup," Lyra said slowly, every word chillingly clear. "I actually came back from 20 years in the future."

I froze.

"Twenty years from now, you'll have been gone for a long time," she said, her eyes reddening quickly. "Your wolf withered from heartbreak. By the time they found out, it was too late to save you. Dad had already marked a new Luna by then.

"The ceremony took place just three months after you passed. He told the pack they couldn't be without a Luna—that Finn and I needed someone to care for us."

The candle flames on the altar flickered. A wave of dizziness washed over me.

"I didn't cry, really." Lyra wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I didn't cry at your funeral. Grandma said I was cold-blooded and heartless.

"But I knew that during those last six months before you died—when you were tormented all night by the pain from the other end of the mate bond—none of them showed a hint of compassion."

I stepped back until I hit the cold stone wall. A pack emblem hanging there fell with a sharp clatter.

"Mom." Lyra approached me and hugged my leg. "Stop making dinner for Dad. The venison you cook is delicious, yet he picks at it every time. He tells everyone you just laze around the pack house all day, unable to manage even the simplest tasks."

I wanted to defend him, to say that wasn't true, that her father would never utter those words.

But the words died in my throat. Because last Wednesday, on the night of the full moon, Kael had said exactly that.

I had made his favorite honey-glazed ribs. He told me they were too sweet, that I was lazy with the herbs, and that the meat was tough. Then, he received a mind-link about trouble at the border, shifted into his wolf, and left.

Lyra lifted her head, her face streaked with tears. "Mom, come with me. I can hunt—I can take care of you."

"But you're only five…"

"I'm 25," she interrupted, her voice suddenly steady and commanding. "In my timeline, I am the Alpha Female of the MoonShadow pack. I can conquer a territory of my own. I can hire wolves to protect us and let you sleep late, instead of waking at 6:00 am to prepare breakfast for Dad."

I crouched down and looked into her eyes.

They were so familiar, yet the soul behind them wasn't of a five-year-old pup. There was a weight in her gaze that I couldn't fully grasp, but I knew she wasn't lying.

"Why did you come back?" I asked.

"Because I missed you." Her tears fell again. "I've missed you every single night for 20 years. I remember how thin you were near the end, all skin and bones, yet you still insisted on getting up to cook for Finn and me. You said you were afraid we'd be late for training."

With trembling fingers, Lyra reached out to touch my cheek.

"Mom, it's not worth it. He's not worth it, and we weren't, either. You burned yourself out for us, and we didn't even grow into the wolves you deserved. I'm 25, and I'm still afraid to look for a mate because I don't want to end up like you.

"Finn's even worse. He became—"