Chapter 17

The day the Enforcer convoy taking her to confinement passed the Council steps, I happened to be standing there.

She was brought down, cuffed, hair wild, her clothes a mess, her eyes still mad.

She screamed at me. "You! You ruined me!"

I stood without moving. The wind lifted the hair at my temples. My eyes were clear and cold.

I didn't ruin you.

You were born greedy. You killed your own parents. You forced a child into her grave. You dragged yourself here step by step.

It was you who ruined you.

By the time I got to the medical wing, Damien was already in the surgical theater.

The hall was chaos. A healer pulled me into a side room.

"Ma'am, Alpha Kane is in critical condition. The blade went through the aortic wall. The silver is compounding the damage. He's bleeding out. If we don't operate immediately, he won't survive."

I didn't speak.

The healer thought I was just hesitant. He went on. "You're his mate of record. You're the only one with the authority to sign. We need your decision now."

I looked down at the cold surgical consent form.

My palm had been stained. The blood had dried and stuck to the paper.

The signature line was still empty. The healer's voice was just a blur somewhere near my ear.

I looked up. My eyes were calm and clear.

"I won't sign."

He stopped. "What?"

"This surgery doesn't happen." I said it one word at a time, my voice as cold as something pulled from a frozen sea. "Let him die."

"Ma'am, you understand you're giving up a man's chance to live."

"I understand," I cut him off, flat, almost cruel. "So what? Right now, the only one who can pay his medical costs and put a signature on this is me. I'm telling you I won't sign."

Damien had hidden the truth for Fiona. He'd covered for her. He'd put my daughter on the rail that took her life.

He owed me a life.

And besides, he'd never once treated me like I was family. Why would I give him a signature.

The healer stared at me.

I said it quietly, turned around, and walked out without looking back.

The light over the surgical theater was still on. He might still be inside, fighting, begging, calling my name.

This time I wasn't giving him another chance.

I'd heard enough "I'm sorry." I'd had enough "too late."

The next day I learned Damien had died outside the surgical theater. He bled out.

No one was left who could save him. No one was left who wanted to.

In the end, he paid for what he'd done with his life.

A week later.

I was on a flight to western Europe. One suitcase and a passport.

I rented a small cottage by the sea. I started formal therapy and physical recovery.

My body was worse than I'd thought. The long stretch of depression and trauma had left things underneath. My immune system was low. I had constant headaches and insomnia. My stomach had turned.

But I didn't run from it anymore.

I cooperated with the healer. I took medicine. I did the acupuncture. I kept a regular schedule. Bit by bit, the woman who'd been eaten hollow by hate started to have skin and blood again.

Therapy was harder.

Trauma stress, recurring nightmares, trouble breathing, the helplessness at night. I kept going anyway.

I didn't want to spend the rest of my life living in the shadow of Damien and Fiona.

I wanted my own life.

Even if it was slow. Even if every day was like climbing out of hell.

One evening.

I was standing at the water, and the sunset had turned the sea amber.

Snowy circled my feet. She gave a small "meow" that sounded almost like "you did good today."

I bent down and stroked her head. My nose stung.

"Thank you for staying with me."

The wind lifted the hem of my dress. For a second I saw Evie smiling up at me from the dream I'd had a few nights before.

She'd said, "Mommy, if there's a next life, you have to live happy. Don't make your life this hard for other people again, okay?"

I looked at the sun at the edge of the sea and said softly, "I will."

There's no real happy ending to the story.

But every day you're still living, you're one step forward.

Damien was gone. Fiona had paid.

I was finally, quietly, starting my own rebirth.

The road ahead might still be unknown. There might still be shadows.

But I knew. I wasn't the Selene who drowned in sorrow and waited to be rescued anymore.

I'd slowly get better.

I'd live more beautifully than any of them.

No matter how cold the world got, I'd keep a fire burning for myself.