Chapter 3

Marcus didn't come home that night.

I was used to it by now.

Whenever Serena felt even slightly unwell, he'd sit beside her bed all night.

The tenderness he'd once shown me hadn't disappeared. He'd simply given it to Serena instead.

At dawn, I carried my suitcase out of the bedroom.

The long hallway was eerily quiet, the only sound the morning wind swirling outside.

Both my daughters' bedroom doors were slightly ajar.

I stopped outside and slowly tightened my grip on the suitcase handle.

Marcus wasn't worth holding on to anymore.

But my daughters were different.

The rest of my family was long gone. My daughters were my only remaining blood relatives.

When Ophelia was little, she wandered off while playing and got lost on a snowy mountain. I led the search party and spent the whole day searching for her before finally finding her.

When Calista was three, she came down with a high fever. I cared for her for three days and nights without rest. She recovered, but I fell sick from exhaustion.

I'd sewn their first dresses, taken them outside the city to watch meteor showers, and prayed for them on the long steps of the Moon Goddess's temple whenever they were sick.

Those memories still felt vivid.

Warm and alive, as natural as breathing.

I was about to push the door open when I heard voices inside.

"Serena's so much easier to be around than Mom," Calista whispered. "She doesn't boss us around at all."

"Right." Ophelia laughed. "Even if we stayed up all night, she wouldn't make us go to bed at 10.

"And she'd never drag us out of bed before sunrise for heir combat drills or territory-management lessons."

Calista let out a huge yawn. "She also said she-wolves don't need to work so hard."

"Exactly!" Ophelia chimed in. "We just have to look pretty every day."

I lowered my gaze as bitterness rose in my throat.

Of course she wouldn't make you train.

She wanted her own pup to be the future Alpha of Silver Ridge.

My foolish daughters mistook that for kindness.

The room went quiet for a moment. Then Calista said, "I wish Serena was our mom."

Ophelia didn't argue.

A few seconds later, she giggled.

"Didn't Dad make Mom move to the cottage? She can't control us anymore." Her tone was light. "Now that's freedom."

Standing outside the door, I heard the word "freedom," and the last bit of warmth in my chest faded away.

So to them, freedom meant living without my love.

I had nothing left to give. All I could leave them was a goodbye.

I raised my hand and knocked softly on the door.

The voices stopped immediately.

After a long pause, two sets of fake snores came from inside, each one more forced than the last.

I knew they were awake.

And I knew they didn't want to see me.

I didn't call them out. I just said softly through the door, "Are you girls still asleep?"

The snoring got louder.

I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle and said quietly, "Mom's going away for a while. I won't be around anymore, so take good care of yourselves."

No answer came from the room.

My eyes stung.

In the end, the deepest wounds don't come from your enemies.

They come from the silence of the people you love.

I took one last look at the door, then turned and left.

Behind me, muffled giggles slipped through the crack in the door.

They weren't loud, but I heard them clearly.

I didn't stop.

As I walked down the hallway, my eyes slowly adjusted to the morning light.

By the time I reached the end, the world ahead of me felt wide open.

The morning air felt like my first deep breath after a long illness.

I carried my suitcase into the carriage and didn't look back once.

I was Evelyn Kessler.

At 46, I packed my bags.

And started over.