Chapter 2
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, my phone buzzed with a call from Sean.
"Alpha Miriam," his voice came through, strained and distant. "I’ll be late tonight. Miguel’s sick, and Yareli needs me."
"Okay," I replied, my tone clipped and final.
There was a pause on the other end, as if he expected more—some sign of distress, perhaps, or a reminder of the bond we once shared. When I offered nothing but silence, his voice turned sharp, tinged with irritation. "Alpha Miriam, don’t make this harder than it already is."
The line went dead before I could respond.
Ten minutes later, my phone lit up with a barrage of messages.
[Sorry, Alpha Miriam. Miguel’s been really clingy to his dad lately.]
[But honestly, how could he drop everything and leave you and Braelynn as soon as I called?]
[I’ll talk to him about it, don’t be mad.]
The last one was punctuated with a laughing emoji. Yareli. Her words dripped with false sympathy, a thinly veiled challenge. I didn’t have the patience for her games. With a swift motion, I deleted her messages and blocked her number.
Not long after, Sean called again, his voice tight with frustration. "Alpha Miriam, what’s going on? Yareli apologized, and this is how you respond?"
In the background, I could hear the faint sounds of a woman sobbing and a child’s cries. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. When I remained silent, his voice hardened. "Alpha Miriam, how did you become like this? I’m... disappointed in you."
It was always the same. Yareli’s tears, her dramatics, and Sean’s blind loyalty to her. I was the villain in their story, the cold and unfeeling Luna who refused to bend to their whims.
When I returned to the Crawford Pack’s estate, I began packing. The air in the house felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Clothes, handbags, jewelry, Braelynn’s favorite toys—each item was a piece of the life I was leaving behind.
As I reached the final box, my hands trembled slightly. It was sealed with dust, untouched for years. Inside were the love letters—letters Sean had written to me from ages 17 to 22. I picked up the one on top, the paper fragile with age.
It began:
"Hello, twenty-seven-year-old Alpha Miriam, this is seventeen-year-old Sean. This is my first love letter to you. As we promised, we’re opening this together in ten years. We’re surely mated by now, and perhaps we even have a beautiful child."
My phone rang again. This time, it was twenty-seven-year-old Sean, his voice frantic. "Alpha Miriam! Yareli took off with Miguel. Do you know anything? If they get into trouble, I’ll never forgive you."
As he spoke, I read the closing line of the letter: "Yours forever, Sean."
A sharp pain lanced through my chest, as if something tender and irreplaceable had shattered inside me. The bond that once tied us together, the promise of forever, now felt like a cruel joke.
I ended the call and threw the box into the fireplace. The flames consumed the letters, the memories, and the last remnants of the life I had shared with Sean. The heat warmed my face, but it did nothing to ease the cold emptiness in my heart.
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