EPISODE 4
The house stood before me like a ghost–hollow, abandoned, its walls stripped of warmth. Onc it had pulsed with life and hope, built brick by brick from whispered dreams and late–nigh promises. Now it was just a shell. A place where echoes lived.
I stepped across the threshold, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath my feet. My fingertip brushed along the worn panels of the hallway, tracing grooves and edges I knew by heart. Eac step I took stirred memories like dust. This place–our place–had been a sanctuary once. Th haven Daniel and I had shaped with trembling hands and quiet laughter. A home meant fo
more.
I used to imagine the sound of tiny feet on these floors, the lull of laughter in the morning light. used to picture arms around me, strong and certain, carrying me through every storm. But all o it had been a lie. A sweet, venom–laced illusion.
My footsteps echoed, empty and cold, as I moved through the house like a shadow. In ever room, I saw pieces of the life I had once believed was real. The kitchen we’d renovated ourselves The balcony where we watched the stars. The little alcove where I once whispered secrets int Daniel’s shoulder, believing they were safe with him.
He had been so gentle with me during the miscarriages–holding me, reassuring me with sof words and patient silence. He never flinched at my grief. I thought it meant he loved me deeply that he’d never leave me, that we were unshakable.
I thought wrong.
Everything–the way he stroked my hair when I cried, the way he held my hand in public tc remind the others I was his–it had all been part of the performance. Just another mask in the masquerade he and Helen danced so effortlessly.
All of it… wasted.
My throat tightened as I entered our bedroom. The air was still. Too still.
I knelt before the old wooden chest beneath the bed, its hinges stiff with disuse. As I opened it, the scent of cedar and old fabric drifted up. I began to pack, slowly and methodically, folding each piece of clothing with precision, more out of instinct than intention. It was easier to move like this. To do something. To not think.
Then my hand brushed something soft.
I froze.
Fingers trembling, I lifted a tiny, half–finished blanket from the corner of the chest. Its edges were rough, the stitching uneven, the colors faded from time. I had embroidered it myself, during a brief window of joy when I had believed–believed–that I was finally going to carry our child to term. That this time would be different.
My hands tightened around the fabric, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
This blanket was meant to cradle a life that never came to be. Meant to be held by arms that never got to rock their baby to sleep. I had poured hope into each stitch, and now, all it held was grief.
I pressed it gently to my stomach. Empty. Always empty.
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The space inside me where life had once stirred was now a hollow void. And deep down, I knew the truth I had refused to accept: I would never feel that flutter again. The soft kick of possibility. The promise of a future. That door had closed forever.
Something in me crumbled, and something else hardened in its place.
No more.
I stood with quiet finality, folding the blanket with reverent care and placing it in my bag. My griet had worn itself thin, and now, beneath its layers, resolve bloomed like frostbite.
I could not stay here. Not in this house soaked in betrayal. Not among those who had turned their backs on me.
As dusk fell, I found myself before the mirror one last time. My reflection stared back–tired eyes, tight lips, a woman fractured but not broken. In my hand, I held a small glass vial. The liquid. inside shimmered under the soft glow of candlelight.
A scent–erasing serum. Rare and expensive. It severed connections–not just physical, but spiritual. With one swallow, I would be cloaked from the senses of every wolf in this pack. I would become untraceable. Unreachable.
Free.
I uncorked the vial and downed it in one gulp. The taste was bitter, the chill immediate. I welcomed it.
Goodbye, Daniel.
Goodbye, father. Pack. Lies.
I slipped into the night, disappearing into the forest like smoke on the wind.
Back at the healer’s quarters, silence blanketed the room. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the kind that pressed against the lungs and made every breath an effort.
Helen lay sprawled across a cot, her hands dramatically cradling her belly as healers moved around her with quiet urgency. Her performance was well–practiced–whimpers, shallow breaths, the occasional flinch. A perfect act.
Only Daniel remained by her side. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face unreadable, though his eyes never strayed far from Helen.
The senior healer, a woman well into her sixties with more wisdom in her gaze than most had in a lifetime, finally spoke as she washed her hands. “It’s an odd thing,” she murmured, more tc herself than to anyone else.
Daniel’s gaze shifted. “What do you mean?”
She dried her hands on a cloth and turned to face him. “Your family’s had… unfortunate luck. Maurice suffered through illness and loss, yet managed to recover. And now, Helen ends up here, same day. One might say your bloodline is cursed.”
Daniel frowned. “Recovered from what?”
The healer raised a brow. “Why, her hearing, of course. She came in yesterday, nearly glowing. Said she could hear for the first time. It was… a moment. I assumed she’d already told you, since she left before I could send her off with prescriptions.”
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Daniel’s blood ran cold. “She regained her hearing yesterday?
The woman nodded. “A miracle, truly. We thought it might never happen. But now? She should have full restoration within days”
Silence fell like a hammer.
Daniel stood frozen. His mind raced, gears grinding against the weight of the healer’s words.
Maurice… could hear?
His heart stuttered
If she had regained her hearing yesterday, she had heard everything
The confrontation.
His words.
His threats.
A sick, dizzying chill washed over him as realization took root. Maurice had heard every cruel word. Every accusation. The betrayal. The rejection.
Helen’s voice called out behind him, but he barely registered it.
He turned and strode out of the room,
Each step was heavier than the last, his breath quickening as dread sank its claws into him.
He reached their home–her home–in minutes. The door hung slightly ajar. His pulse pounded in
his ears.
He pushed it open.
Nothing
The air was still. The scent… faint. Barely there.
His chest caved inward.
She was gone.
And this time, she had taken every last piece of herself with her.
