Chapter 1

“I told you there was nothing wrong. You're my daughter. Don't you think I know you?”

On the drive home, Mom took a picture of the report and sent it to our family group chat.

She circled “Normal range.”

“Took Charlotte for an assessment today. She's fine. Her dad and I can finally stop worrying.”

The replies came in one after another.

My aunt said, “I knew it couldn't be depression. She's your only child. You've given her the best of everything.”

My uncle said, “She's a pure-blooded Alpha. How could she have an illness that only affects Omegas? Don't let all that stuff online get to her.”

Dad replied last.

“Glad she's okay. Charlotte, listen to your mother. She'd never hurt you.”

Mom put her phone down, looking pleased.

“See? Everyone cares about you.”

“I know your herb and potion classes aren't easy. But you can't think you're sick every time something gets hard.”

I stared at the screen and nodded.

“Yeah. I'm fine.”

Mom paused. She probably hadn't expected me to agree so quickly.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“That's my girl.”

I lowered my head. Every time I asked her for help, she fell apart before I did.

“I've handed all my pack duties over to other people. I take you to the academy every day. I make sure you eat well. I even have a healer come to the house because I'm scared you'll get hurt in training. I've done everything I can for you. How am I still getting it wrong?”

Even this trip to the hospital had come out of spite, after a whole night of tears and complaints.

“Fine. We'll go to the hospital. Let's see just how much damage I've done to you.”

This time, I didn't dare argue.

From that day on, I acted normal.

I got up at six thirty without Mom having to wake me.

I ate every bit of the breakfast she made.

Even when my stomach turned, I forced down the last bite.

Before I left for the academy, she checked my bag and phone.

I stood beside her and waited. I no longer asked why she was going through my things.

She put my lunch in my bag, then checked my training pads.

“Does your knee still hurt? Keep these on in combat class today. I don't care if they're a hassle.”

I shook my head.

She deleted all those messy thoughts from my notes. I didn't stop her.

“Writing about how bad you feel will only make you feel worse.”

She handed my phone back.

“Write about happy things from now on. I want to see you happy.”

I stopped putting my head down on my desk in class.

When our herb teacher asked a question, I stood up to answer.

The girl next to me asked if I was feeling better. I smiled and sounded just like Mom.

“I was always fine. I was just overthinking things before.”

After school, I helped Mom make dinner, wipe down the table, and put away the clean clothes without being asked.

She sounded relaxed when she called my aunt.

“The assessment did help. She's finally come around.”

“She identified every herb correctly today and got through all her training. I knew she could do it.”

My aunt laughed.

“Of course she can. She's your daughter.”

Mom turned to look at me.

I was crouched on the floor, scrubbing a stain by her feet.

She stroked my hair.

“I don't expect her to run the pack yet. But she has to learn to stand on her own. We won't always be there to protect her.”

I kept my head down and scrubbed.

The stain was already gone.

Still, I kept rubbing the same spot, over and over.

At ten that night, Mom opened my bedroom door.

I was already in bed. My academy uniform was neatly folded. The herb journal I had to turn in the next day was at the top of my bag.

At last, she smiled.

She sat on the edge of my bed, pulled up my blanket, and kissed my forehead.

“I've only been strict with you because I don't want you making mistakes you'll regret.”

“You're the Alpha and Luna's only child. Other people can say they can't do something. You can't. One day, this whole pack will depend on you. You can't give up the moment things get hard.”

I forced a small smile.

“Thanks, Mom.”

She turned out the light.

Outside my room, she sent Dad a voice message.

“Don't worry. She's really fine now. She's eating again, and she's stopped saying those scary things.”

Dad asked, “Then why keep the report?”

“Of course I'm keeping it. In case she starts this again.”

Her footsteps faded.

I lay awake, looking at my desk.

A copy of the report sat beneath the lamp.

Score within normal range. No signs of depression. Maintain open communication at home.

I stared at it for a long time. Then I took out a new diary.

On the first page, I wrote:

I got up on time today. I finished my breakfast. I paid attention in class. I helped Mom around the house after school.

I'm doing well.