She handed me a glass vial containing a silvery liquid. “Drink this three times daily. Two days, and you’ll be strong again.”
I gave a small nod, my gratitude unspoken. That day passed quietly—I rested, gathered the shreds of my strength, and tried not to think too much. But silence never lasts long.
The door creaked open.
Darrell entered.
His presence once brought warmth, comfort, even joy. Now, it only reopened wounds that hadn’t yet healed. He approached, kneeling beside me and gently taking my hand.
“Debbie,” he whispered. “The Goddess must’ve heard my prayers. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come earlier. Carla’s been unwell—she needed me.”
His words sliced into me like shards of glass. I wanted to scream, to tell him how I’d nearly died while he played guardian to someone else. But I stayed silent.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was achingly familiar. A part of me wished, foolishly, that this moment belonged to just the two of us.
“I’ll come back soon,” he promised, rising to his feet. “But Carla needs me again. She’s Alpha Maxon’s daughter, and I have a responsibility to protect her. I hope you’re not upset. It’s just duty, Debbie. Nothing more.”
He leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead—tender, like old times—and then left without waiting for a response.
He didn’t return.
Elisha later told me that Darrell and Carla had traveled to settle a conflict in another territory. He’d taken her with him—trusted her to stand beside him where I once had.
Alone, I stared at the carved wooden box by my bedside. Inside it were 498 handwritten letters—each one from Darrell, each filled with declarations of love. He once said, when I reached letter number 500, he’d ask me to marry him.
That last letter came six months ago.
My fingers trembled as they grazed the box’s edge. I couldn’t open it. The memories felt too sharp, too unbearable. Instead, I rose to my feet. I needed air. I needed something—anything—that wasn’t this room filled with the ghosts of broken promises.
I headed toward the pack house entrance, hoping the sound of the young wolves I taught might offer distraction. But I froze.
Darrell was there, standing under the warm sun, his laughter echoing through the open air. He was helping Carla carry a basket of apples. His smile—so wide, so carefree—hadn’t looked that genuine in months.
Once, the sight of them together would’ve crushed me.