Alpha, I Won’t Be Your Luna Again Chapter 11

Alpha, I Won’t Be Your Luna Again Chapter 11

Before winter came, I moved out of that house.

I replaced all the furniture and cleared out everything tied to the past.

Elowen came to help. The second she walked in, she clicked her tongue.

“Finally looks like a place a person can actually live.”

I set the last box of books down and straightened up.

“Get your own water.”

She tossed her coat aside, sank onto the couch, and scrolled her phone. Then she looked up.

“Got some news for you.”

“What?”

“The Pack Emergency Center turned Nathan’s case into an internal cautionary example.”

She turned the screen toward me.

“First lesson in new-hire training. They play those two recordings.”

On the screen was a screenshot of an internal bulletin. The last line stood out sharp.

Every call for help must be taken seriously. No one may interfere with an emergency on the grounds of family disputes or personal feelings.

Elowen smiled.

“For a fire captain, wouldn’t you call that a public execution?”

I said flatly, “I would.”

She put her phone down, then added.

“Also — after they took Nathan into custody, his mother went and made a scene. She ended up detained a few days for screaming and physically assaulting the sheriff’s deputies. I hear she’s even put the old house on the market to cover his damages and lawyer fees.”

I twisted open a water bottle and didn’t answer.

Elowen glanced at me.

“Have you really let it go?”

I walked to the window and pulled the curtains all the way open.

Sunlight spilled across the floor.

“Yeah.”

She got up and tapped her bottle against mine.

“Then congratulations. New life.”

I tapped mine back, gently.

“Congratulations to me.”

Later, I went back to work.

Before, married, I’d revolved around Nathan, around the house, around trying to have a baby.

Now, I revolved around myself.

Finding clients, drawing up plans, pitching, walking job sites, going to my check-ups, working out, eating on time, sleeping on time.

Bit by bit, I reclaimed every part of my life for myself.

Three months later, I went to the courthouse to sign the enforcement confirmation.

At the end of the hall, in the visitation room, a staff member suddenly asked me, “Ma’am, someone wants to see you. Will you?”

I looked up.

“Who?”

“Nathan.”

I was quiet for two seconds, then nodded.

Through the glass, I saw him.

In just a few months he’d wasted away to a shadow, his eyes sunken, his whole face gray and defeated.

There was nothing left of who he used to be.

He looked at me, his eyes rimmed red.

“Mira.”

I stood there, unmoving.

He pressed a hand to the glass, his voice shaking.

“I dream about that night, every single night.”

“I dream about you screaming for me in the fire, about you jumping from that window, about the doctor saying the baby was gone.”

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I really am sorry.”

I looked at him, my voice level.

“If sorry fixed anything, what would we need the law for?”

He flinched, like he’d been punched in the face, his color draining further.

A few seconds later, he forced the words out.

“If the baby were still here… would he be moving by now?”

I stared at him, and then I laughed.

“Nathan.”

“You’re only NOW remembering you were going to be a father?”

“Too bad your child knew before you did.”

“Before he died, he already knew you’d never be a good dad.”

Nathan went rigid where he stood, like the last breath had been pulled out of him.

I withdrew my gaze, turned, and walked away.

Behind me came his muffled, choked-down sobs.

I didn’t look back.

Not this time. Not once.