The Rebirth Of A PTSD And Betrayed Luna Chapter 05

The Rebirth Of A PTSD And Betrayed Luna Chapter 05

## [Donald’s POV]

Fairy lights strung across the garden turned the entire grounds bright as midday. Wanda and I stood at the center of the celebration, glasses raised in a toast to the crowd.

“Thank you all for joining us to mark our first mating anniversary.”

I bowed my head and pressed a reverent kiss to the back of Wanda’s hand. “Wanda, thank you for standing faithfully by my side, and for gifting me our beautiful pup.”

Tears glistened in Wanda’s eyes as the clan erupted into thunderous applause.

My smile was still frozen on my face when a deafening crash cut through the cheers. A small white figure plummeted from the third floor without a single warning.

My champagne glass slipped out of my grasp and shattered at my feet. Wanda shrieked, clapping both hands over her mouth in shock.

Chaos exploded through the crowd in an instant. Pack members shouted in alarm. A handful sprinted forward to administer emergency aid. Others dialed the pack medical center’s emergency line at once.

I stood rigid, my hands trembling uncontrollably. “Hannah…”

I shoved through the surging crowd and dropped to my knees beside her in a heartbeat. My fingers hovered over her blood-streaked face, too terrified to touch her fully.

—

Hannah’s parents rushed onto the scene seconds later. At the sight of their daughter covered in blood, her mother collapsed onto the grass, eyes blown wide with denial.

“This can’t be real. Hannah would never do something like this—this isn’t her!” She screamed the words again and again, her body folding inward as sobs ripped from her throat.

The medical transport arrived shortly after. I lifted Hannah carefully and carried her onto the ambulance while fireworks still burst overhead.

It hit me all at once: Hannah had begged me to halt the fireworks at the start of the party.

I’d watched terror twist every feature of her face, her speech fractured and shaky. Yet I’d dismissed it as an act for attention.

I’d known she lived with severe PTSD, but I’d never grasped how crippling it truly was—how she equated loud fireworks to battlefield explosions, how much pain would drive her to jump from a third-story window.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my Beta immediately. “Cancel all remaining fireworks for tonight. Pull every single medical file from Hannah’s border rehabilitation facility—send me the full, unredacted records at once.”

I hung up before Wanda could finish her incoming call. “Hannah’s in critical condition. Leo’s been crying nonstop, so I’ll visit the medical wing tomorrow—”

I cut the line without a reply. I curled my fingers around Hannah’s ice-cold hand and pressed it to my cheek. “Hannah… I’m so sorry. I’m

—

endlessly sorry.”

Back at the medical center, Hannah’s mother cried until her eyes swelled shut. Her father paced the waiting room floor without pause.

Only days earlier, they’d ranted endlessly about their daughter’s selfish choices. Now both looked as though they’d aged a decade overnight.

I leaned my head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, my formal suit stained with dried blood, hair matted and disheveled.

My phone vibrated, delivering the full medical report I’d requested.

The documents detailed everything: the rogue wolf ambush on the border two years prior, the catastrophic explosion that left her critically injured.

Medics had rushed her from a makeshift field tent to the remote border hospital, where she’d undergone a string of life-saving major surgeries.

When she woke, every memory had vanished, and her diagnosis was severe, life-threatening PTSD.

The files noted over a dozen prior suicide attempts. Loud, sudden noises triggered crippling panic attacks that required heavy sedation to calm.

During every mental breakdown, she’d repeat the same broken phrases on loop: “I need to go home,” “Someone’s waiting for me.”

Reading those lines, I crumpled to the linoleum floor, burying my face in my palms as hot tears spilled free.

—

She’d lost every memory of who she was, yet her wolf’s instinct never let her stop clinging to the hope of coming home—convinced we waited for her return.

Meanwhile, I’d stood at my mating ceremony with Wanda, welcoming her and our pup into the pack house Hannah and I had built together without a second thought.

I’d never stopped to wonder if Hannah survived, never imagined how agonizing her days had been, and I’d comforted myself with empty thoughts of moving forward.

Regret didn’t wash over me—it tore through me like shrapnel. I slammed my fist hard against the cinder block wall.

I failed Hannah in every way imaginable. But from this moment onward, I would spend every breath earning back the right to say her name—not as her Alpha, not as her mate, but as the man who failed her most.