Filed to story: Alpha’s Regret After His Pregnant Luna’s Death (Evelyn & Declan)
Evelyn’s POV
Kara’s kindness had always felt different from anyone else’s. It wasn’t forced, or even out of some kind of obligation, it came from a place of real compassion.
I could feel it, the way she saw me, the way she understood what it meant to be a woman, a mother. Maybe it was that bond between us that made me trust her more than Peter or some hired nanny ever could.
“No problem! Leave her with me. She’ll be safe and sound till you’re back,” kara said, her voice warm and reassuring as she gave me a hearty nod.
Relief flooded through me, though a small part of me, one that I tried to ignore, still churned with uncertainty. But I couldn’t focus on that now. I needed to get this over with. I needed to deal with them, my mother, the memorial, the inheritance-and leave this whole mess behind, if only for a little while.
I chatted with the women for a little longer, pretending for their sake that everything was normal, even though my thoughts were already elsewhere. But soon enough, it was time to go.
Lana was nestled comfortably in kara’s arms, calm and content, not a fuss in sight. I handed over her bottle, her clothes, and the other supplies I knew would keep her safe, and I watched kara smile as she cooed softly at my daughter. It made me ache a little.
With one last glance at my baby girl, I turned and made my way to the city bus. The weight of everything was settling in my chest, but I couldn’t afford to think about it too long. There was still so much to do.
I dropped some coins into the fare box as I climbed aboard and sat by the window. I watched the city blur by, my gaze distant, heavy with worry.
My bank card was frozen again. The money I had worked so hard for, all my wages from that godforsaken cleaning job, locked away from me. I couldn’t access a cent. The frustration churned inside me, but I kept it buried. The last thing I needed was to let my emotions spill out of control.
The weight of the day pressed against my chest as the trees blurred past. I leaned my head against the cold window, trying to let the city rush by without dragging me down. I had to keep it together. One thing at a time, I told myself. One step forward.
But the weather seemed to be reflecting my mood. The sky turned dark and heavy as I stepped off the bus. Thick clouds rolled in like a bad omen, and before I could even adjust to the change, the drizzle started to fall. Cold raindrops kissed my forehead and ears, and I shivered, the chill biting deep into my skin.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me, moving quickly toward the villa. My shoes squelched in the dampness, but I barely noticed. My heart was thumping in my chest now, faster with every step. What if they had already gone to the cemetery without me? Would they even wait for me?
I reached the door to the entrance and knocked firmly, wiping away the damp strands of hair that clung to my forehead, my fingers brushing against the wetness.
The rain made my bangs stick to my skin, heavy and warm, but I barely registered the discomfort. All I could focus on was the anger rising in my chest. I knocked again and again, but no one answered.
My heart started to pound harder as the anger boiled over. Why isn’t anyone answering?
I dialed Margaret’s number, my hand trembling slightly as I held the phone to my ear. The call was abruptly cut off, and I swore under my breath, frustration growing with each passing second. Why can’t she just-
And then, the door creaked open. I froze, the anger in my throat catching, replaced with stunned disbelief. There she stood, Margaret, my mother, looking at me like I was the problem.
“You were inside?” I managed to say, my voice tight. “Why didn’t you open the door?”
She gave me a sidelong glance before turning back inside without so much as an apology. “A convict expects me to roll out the red carpet? What’s wrong with making you wait? Haven’t you learned your lesson in prison?”
Her words struck like a slap, and I felt my insides freeze. It wasn’t just the words. It was the tone. The casual cruelty of it. It sent a wave of something dark through me, something that made my claws itch beneath my skin. She doesn’t even care, she’s never cared.
I stood on the threshold, damp and cold, the rain still dripping off me as the chill seeped into my bones. From where I stood, I could see Sophia lounging comfortably on the sofa, her eyes sharp and cold, gleaming with that unmistakable glint of mockery.
A shiver ran through me, not from the rain, but from the icy sting in my chest.
This was nothing new. Margaret’s game, I thought bitterly. It was always the same. Always some way to remind me that I wasn’t enough. I bit my trembling lip, suppressing the growl that tried to rise from deep inside. My wolf was restless and irritated, sensing the injustice in the air.
A soft, bitter laugh escaped me, and I stepped inside, letting the door close behind me with a quiet click.
The warmth of the house enveloped me immediately, a stark contrast to the cold I carried with me.
I stayed silent, ignoring the taunting glances from Sophia, and my jaw tightened as I headed for the stairs. I wasn’t here to argue. I was here to endure.
“Evelyn, since you’re hardly ever here, Mom turned your room into my walk-in closet,” Sophia’s voice called out, sweet and sickly, full of mock sweetness that was unmistakable. “You can make do in the spare storage room for a few days.”
Evelyn’s POV
Sophia propped her chin on her hand, looking at me with that gleeful anticipation, knowing exactly how this would affect me. I paused in my tracks, my body frozen, as my feet seemed to be nailed to the floor.
The spare room was a cluttered mess, filled with junk. It was more like a storage space than anything that could be considered a room. It was impossible not to feel the sting of it, not to feel the heat rise in my chest, my blood burning with anger.
Margaret cast a sidelong glance at me, but the unease flickering in her eyes was short-lived. She quickly dismissed it with a shrug. “It’s just a place to sleep. It’s just a few days. You’re not that delicate.”
Not that delicate.
I clenched my teeth, my grip tightening on the handle of my suitcase. The weight of it felt too much, a metaphor for everything I was carrying, but it wasn’t the weight that bothered me, it was the pattern.
It was happening again.
I was Margaret’s daughter, yet it was always Sophia who got what she wanted, no matter how much I fought for it.
When I was a child, I would cry and beg, clutching onto Margaret’s hem, my hands trembling and my heart full of confusion, wondering why Sophia always got what I wanted. Why everything I touched was snatched away.
But I never got an answer. Just cold, condescending words. “Sophia wants it, so give it to her. You’re older, Evelyn. How did I raise such a selfish child like you?”
It hit me like it always did, a stab in the chest that never quite went away. The bitterness burned, but I was too tired to let it fully consume me.
My limbs felt drained, empty in a way I couldn’t explain. I didn’t have the fire to fight anymore, not even the spark I had as a child. My wolf howled within me, but it was faint and weak, even it was worn out. I had nothing left to give.
Without a word, I turned and made my way toward the storage room.
Margaretnwatched me retreat in silence, her eyes lost in thought. She didn’t speak as I disappeared down the hall. But just as the door to the storage room clicked shut, I heard Sophia’s voice, light but with a hint of fake worry.
“Mom, is Evelyn mad at me?” she asked, the false pout in her voice only adding to the sweetness she wore like armor.
My sharp ears picked Margaret’s response. “Mad at you? I’d say she’s getting too big for her britches,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. It was exactly the kind of remark that always made my blood simmer, that forced my wolf to stir with frustration.
“You’re always thinking of others, sweetheart. That’s going to get you hurt one day,” she added.
The words weren’t a warning; they were a compliment, a twisted reassurance that Sophia was doing everything right, everything that would keep her in Margaret’s good graces.
“With you here, Mom, I’ll never get hurt,” Sophia cooed, her voice dripping with a coy affection that made me sick.
They laughed together, that warm, fake sound filling the living room like a strange, suffocating cloud. It was all so easy for them. A perfect little mother-daughter bond, like nothing had ever changed, like nothing had ever been torn apart.
Meanwhile, in the storage room, everything felt suffocating and stifling. The air was heavy, thick with dust and memories I had long buried. The room was worse than I’d imagined. In the years I’d been gone, the clutter had only multiplied, the mess spilling out from every corner, leaving barely enough space to stand.
The bed sagged in the middle, its frame split down the center, as though even the furniture couldn’t take the weight of everything that had been dumped on it.
The room hadn’t been aired out in ages. Without sunlight, the stale, musty odor hung thick in the air, clinging to the walls like it was part of the house itself.
A bitter laugh escaped me, sharp and cold. I almost didn’t recognize the sound, it was as though I was laughing at a stranger’s misery, not my own.
In the past I used to wonder why I was subjected to this kind of mistreatment, but now?…I didn’t care anymore.
I didn’t care to ask why Margaret always favored Sophia. I didn’t care about the unfairness of it all anymore. The questions that used to plague me, the childish need to understand, had faded into the background, buried by years of neglect and hurt. It didn’t matter.
A sharp, fleeting pain pierced my chest like a fresh wound reopening. I thought my heart, cracked and parched like a dry riverbed, had already run out of room for pain. But it still stung. It still hurt. Even after all this time, the ache never fully faded.
I guess I still care.
But caring changed nothing. After my grandmother’s death, the well of family love had run dry. I had nothing left to grasp onto, no anchor in the storm. Now, I was just a lone fish, swimming against a current that never stopped.
I bit back the sadness and set to work. I didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for myself. I started clearing the bed, pushing aside the piles of old fabric and junk with mechanical precision. The room was mine now, even if it was a reminder of everything I didn’t have.
As the night settled in, a low fever crept over me. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the weight of the day, but my skin grew hot and uncomfortable.
My thoughts swirled, slipping in and out of clarity. Images of my grandmother floated into my mind, soft and fleeting, like memories wrapped in fog. I could almost hear her calling my name, her voice gentle, soothing, whispering in the dark.
“Grandma… it hurts…” The words slipped from my lips without thought, a small plea to the ghost of a woman who had once been my world.
Evelyn’s POV
I tilted my head, yearning for the warmth of her touch to ease the ache, to make everything right again. But no touch came, the air was empty and silent.
I woke up with a start, my stomach growling angrily as the cold draft of air from the cracked window hit my skin. The chill cut through me, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to close it. The fever had overwhelmed me, and I’d passed out in a haze of exhaustion and aching muscles.
I reached up to touch my forehead, feeling the searing heat that radiated from my skin. It was burning hot. My body felt heavy, like I was trapped in a shell that refused to move. I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling in a fog I couldn’t clear.
For a brief moment, I wished I could have stayed in that dream, that warm, comforting dream where nothing mattered and everything was still okay.
I longed to return to a time before all these, the hardship, the constant cold shoulders, the endless slights. I wanted to go back to a time when I was just a child, basking in my grandmother’s love, feeling safe.
A tear slipped down my cheek, but I didn’t even notice it. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. My wolf was too numb to feel much of anything, but still… the pain, the longing-it never really went away.
Then, through the haze, a thought broke through. The thought of Lana.
I had her, my daughter. I couldn’t afford to stay lost in these memories. If I gave up now, what would become of her? Without a mother, Lana would face the same cruelty that I had endured. She would be alone, unprotected, and a target for those who thrived on pain. I couldn’t let that happen, not to her.
Gritting my teeth, I propped myself up on trembling arms, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to pull me under. I can’t give in, I won’t.
With fierce determination, I dragged myself to the bathroom, my body protesting every movement. I soaked a towel in hot water and pressed it to my forehead, desperate for some relief.
I made several trips through the night, the fever breaking little by little, but the pain didn’t leave. I could feel it gnawing at me, like a beast inside that wouldn’t stop prowling.
By the early hours of the morning, the fever began to break. I was still exhausted, my body weak and aching, but at least the heat had lessened.
Just as I started to fall asleep, a loud knock shattered the silence. The door rattled, and I flinched. My body felt like waterlogged cotton, weak, yet oppressively heavy. I dragged myself to my feet, every step a struggle, and stumbled toward the door.
When I opened it, I was met with Margaret’s wide eyes, her gaze flicking over me with obvious disgust.
