The Unwanted Luna’s Farewell Chapter 03

The Unwanted Luna’s Farewell Chapter 03

Early the next morning, Mom knocked on my door.

“Charlotte, get up. Bring the camera.”

“You hold the camera. Olivia looks gorgeous today; we’re going to Pinecrest Lake Park first to take a few photos.”

The June sun was already scorching.

As noon approached, the sun’s glare off the lake turned blinding, and even the breeze through the trees blew hot.

I ran back and forth, following Olivia around to take photos.

Mom held a parasol; Dad carried a small electric fan.

After every spot, they stepped forward attentively to fan her off.

Meanwhile, for what Olivia called “the best shots,” I stood in the blazing sun until my throat burned like fire.

My throat soon throbbed with dryness.

Lately, I had practiced interpretation day and night for my evaluation, damaging my vocal cords.

Last month, I even got surgery in secret behind everyone’s backs. The pack physician instructed me to take my medicine on time and drink plenty of water.

Feeling the pills in my pocket, I reached out my hand toward Mom as she returned from buying water in the distance.

“Mom, give me one.”

Mom paused, instinctively pulling the bottles close to her chest.

“I only bought three bottles. Bear with it for now. You can drink when we get home after the shoot.”

I swallowed hard.

“My vocal cords just had surgery. I need to take my medication on time.”

“Just a sip. One sip is fine.”

I thought a bottle of water was no big deal, but she suddenly snapped, raising her voice like her tail had been stepped on.

“What surgery? Lies right off your tongue! Fighting over gifts yesterday, fighting over water today—what do you want to fight over tomorrow?”

“Charlotte, don’t play these petty little mind games with me.”

The sun grew even harsher. Sweat dripped down my forehead and cheeks, fueling the fire burning inside my heart alongside the hot wind in my ears.

My wolf thrashed restlessly in my chest, a dry, stinging pain throbbing deep in my throat.

Yet the three people before me ignored my dark expression entirely.

Casually twisting off the caps, they gulp down more than half in a few swigs.

I suddenly remembered breakfast at home.

Five people, yet Mom always boiled four eggs.

One for Dad, to reward his hard work.

One for herself, to thank herself for waking up early to cook.

One for Owen, because boys needed energy for training.

And the last one for Olivia, because she was the youngest and needed nourishment.

When I was little, I used to beg Mom with longing eyes.

But every time, she would say eggs were expensive and tell me to eat something else.

As I grew up, it was as if I had been conditioned—I tacitly stopped reaching toward the plate of eggs.

It was as if my body had long remembered—

There was nothing in there for me.

Just like now—four people, three bottles of water. Someone was always left out.

It wasn’t an oversight. It was a conscious choice to disregard—a quiet contempt.

I walked over to the public restroom and turned on the faucet.

As cold water trickled down my throat, the unhealed incision on my vocal cords gave a sharp, subtle sting.

For the rest of the time, not one of the four spoke a single word to me or offered a drop of water.

Every few minutes, Mom would glance my way, waiting for me to yield first—just like always.

Dad would shoot me disapproving looks, as if urging me to apologize.

Yet my eyes remained fixed on the train ticket displayed on my screen.

Omaha, Nebraska.

Confirmed.