The Luna Who Paid to Live in Her Own Home Chapter 09

The Luna Who Paid to Live in Her Own Home Chapter 09

This time, it was just the two of them.

Mom spotted me first. She rushed over, arms full of food containers.

“Rhea, I made everything myself.”

“You used to tell me what you wanted to try, and I never listened.”

“From now on… I’ll remember.”

Her hands shook as she pried open the lids.

Slow–cooked beef. Roasted potatoes. Honey–glazed ham.

Every dish was something I’d watched Della eat as a kid. The same ones I used to whisper about: “I

want to try that too.”

Something flickered in my chest. Not hunger. Not anger. Just disorientation.

Back when I couldn’t cover the meal fee, I’d sit at that table with my toast and lettuce.

The smell of real food right next to me, and all I could do was imagine.

Fused to think the day I finally got to taste it would feel like a holiday.

The food was right in front of me now. I felt nothing.

My wolf cracked one eye open, then let it fall shut.

I reached into my wallet and took out a fifty–pound note.

I hesitated. Then I fished out the one–dollar coin I’d saved from my room and set it on top.

“By your rules, the meal’s paid for.”

“I won’t eat it. But thank you for making it.”

“Eat if you want. Then go home. Don’t come back.”

Mom stood there holding the bill, tears streaming down her face.

She tried to speak. I was already walking away.

Behind me, I could hear her stifled sobs.

I slowed for half a step. I didn’t turn around.

The elevator doors slid shut.

Her voice cut off like someone hitting mute.

The numbers climbed. Floor by floor, something warm settled back into my chest.

The light was on upstairs.

Mrs. Hadley was waiting up with dinner.

This was home.

A few years later, I finished my undergraduate degree at Kingswell. My grades and research got me straight into the graduate program.

The school offered me a research fellowship that included housing.

But most nights, I was still at Mrs. Hadley’s.

She’d wave me off with a smile every time I tried to leave. “I’m getting old, and this place is too

quiet without you. Come home more.”

Even if it was just for dinner, she wanted me there.

What she was really saying was: you belong here.

Every morning, warm milk on the table.

No matter how late I came home, the hallway light was always on.

I hadn’t worried about money in years.

Between my scholarship, research funding, and project work with my advisor, I had more than

enough.

I bought clothes because I liked them, not because someone threw them away.

I had a computer that was mine. Not a hand–me–down. Mine.

The things I used to dream about weren’t dreams anymore.

So this was what normal felt like.

That afternoon, I’d just walked in from the lab when my phone chimed.

It was Elin.

We’d stayed loosely in touch since I’d left Briarwood.

[Something’s been going on back in Briarwood.]

[went back and forth on whether to tell you, but I think you should know.]