I usually deal with foraging tasks, but due to my injury, I was temporarily assigned to assist the village healer with drying and grinding medicine. I had started my tasks early that morning at the healer's hut.

Later that morning, I received a bond-link call from Ronan. His voice, groggy from sleep, carried a subtle annoyance. "Nyra, why didn't you wake me up? You left early without telling me, and I overslept. You know I'm on patrol duty this week."

Once, I had cared for him in every way imaginable, even more so after our marriage. I laid out his clothes, prepared his breakfast with love, and gently woke him each morning — a routine I had followed with devotion.

Now, his tone suggested he took those acts of love for granted. It was as though my care had become an unspoken obligation, a chore he simply expected me to perform.

But I wasn't his caretaker. I was his wife. And as his wife, I had the right to refuse.

"Well, since you're running late, you'd better get up soon," I replied calmly.

He pressed further. "What am I going to wear today?"

"Just pick whatever you want. Everything's in the closet," I answered, keeping my voice neutral.

"But I can't find it..." Ronan began to protest.

The old healer called for my help, so I quickly said, "I have something else to attend to. I need to go. Just find your clothes yourself."

Barely a moment passed before I heard Ronan's voice in my head again, sharper this time and laced with irritation. "I found my hide still unwashed, and the one in the closet isn't suitable for patrols. Didn't I tell you to prepare it beforehand?"

His complaints didn't stop there. Another message followed shortly after. "You haven't prepared breakfast either?"

Just then, the village chief called me over, his voice booming with authority. "Nyra, good news!" he announced. "After assessing the application you sent, it seems the elders wish to discuss your training as a lead forager. Oh, and it looks like you've made a full recovery from your injuries."

I had once planned to dedicate my life to Ronan — marry him, bear his pups, and create a family together. I had even declined the elders' offer to join another pack to gain experience, back when I thought building a life with him was all I needed. But now, the allure of those dreams has faded.

Staying by Ronan's side felt not just meaningless but outright foolish.

"I've thought about it, chief. I'll go," I said, my voice steadier than before, laced with newfound determination.

"Excellent choice!" His grin widened, his approval radiating like sunlight piercing through a dense forest. "Prepare yourself, and I'll let you know once the date for your journey is confirmed."

His enthusiasm was almost contagious, but this time, it wasn't his pride I cared about—it was mine. This wasn't just a chance for increasing my rank. It was my first step toward reclaiming a future that was truly my own.

The evening crept in unnoticed as I buried myself in grinding and mixing herbs for the healer. Before I realized it, the skies outside the hut had darkened into twilight. Just as I reached for another bundle of roots, Ronan appeared at the doorway, his expression taut.

"Why are you still here? Why haven't you come home? Where's dinner?"

A wave of distaste washed over me at the thought of returning to him, to the suffocating weight of his expectations. That was why I had stayed in the healer's hut, prolonging my tasks well past sundown.

"The healer needed help with something urgent, but his usual assistant isn't around, so I decided to cover for them. If you're hungry, you'll have to hunt or scavenge for yourself tonight," I replied, my tone calm but detached.

Ronan blinked, surprised. "Scavenge? Really?"

Once, the thought of him eating anything other than my cooking would have been unthinkable. I had poured my heart into every meal, feeding him with love three times a day. Yet, more often than not, he dismissed my efforts, criticizing the taste or complaining over trivial details.

"Is something wrong with that?" I asked, not bothering to hide the indifference in my voice.

He paused, then said hesitantly, "No. Just… I will wait for you to finish and come home together."

"It's okay. You can go ahead," I replied flatly, my gaze never lifted from the herbs I was sorting.

Ronan lingered, silent for a moment, then asked, "Nyra, are you upset with me?"

The question—late and utterly out of place—only stirred a faint flicker of resentment. But beneath it lay something colder: disappointment. Did he truly not see, or did he simply not care? It didn't matter anymore. Anger felt like too much effort to spare on him.

Instead, a sharp, sudden clarity struck me. I turned to him, my voice low but cutting.

"Why don't you stay at Jasmine's tonight instead?"

In a tone heavy with apology, Ronan took the initiative to explain, "Nyra, it's not easy for Jasmine to raise her pup alone. She doesn't know anyone else here. She only has me."

His words struck like a blow, sharp and unrelenting. How easily he seemed to forget that I, too, sometimes only had him.

"Of course, I understand. She must've been through a lot," I replied evenly, keeping my voice calm.

But my calmness must have sounded biting to his ears because his temper flared almost instantly.

"Nyra, what's that supposed to mean? What's with your attitude?"

"I said I understand," I repeated, my voice losing its earlier lightness. "Is that a problem?"

"Do you have to talk to me like that?" he snapped.

Frustration seeped into my tone as I countered, "Then what do you want me to say?"

His retort came sharp and defensive. "Stop being so jealous! We're just friends. Can't you understand that?"

I let out a bitter scoff, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Sure. Friends you'd rather accompany than your own mate to the healer."

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, like the air before a storm. Finally, he mumbled, defeated, "Just finish this task quickly, and we'll leave."

The irony was not lost on me. He once called me annoying for questioning his visits to Jasmine. When I reached out, asking when he'd be back from her den, I was also the annoying one. Now, even trying to understand him seemed to be grounds for his frustration.

With a heavy sigh, I tossed aside the herbal poultice I had been working on. There was no point dwelling on it, nothing I said or did would change anything.

Instead, I focused on my tasks, sorting and grinding the herbs on the desk in front of me. When the night shift ended, I deliberately lingered, taking my time to clean up the workspace. The thought of returning home held no appeal.

But I knew I had to. Asking the village healer for a place to stay would be shameless. Gathering my belongings, I started the trek back, deliberately ignoring Ronan.

He was furious—and hungry, no less—which only added to his temper. As his frustration boiled over, he kicked at a nearby tree to vent his anger. Unluckily for him, the disturbance roused a snake coiled in the branches. Without hesitation, it struck, sinking its fangs into his calf.

Ronan let out a strangled yell, grabbing the snake and flinging it into the bushes, where it quickly slithered away.

"Nyra," he called, his voice tight with pain, "I've been bitten by a snake! It's bleeding. Come check it out!"

I halted my steps, casting a disinterested glance over my shoulder.

"It's not venomous," I said flatly.

He limped closer, his disbelief evident. "How can you tell just by looking at it?"

Sighing, I crouched down to examine the bite more closely. I recognized the snake, it was a harmless species I'd seen many times before. Rising to my feet, I dusted off my knees.

"It's just a bite," I said. "Let it bleed out and it'll be fine. There's no need to waste medicine."

His expression twisted, a mix of frustration and hurt. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Nyra, why don't you care anymore? You used to fuss over me when I was sick, making porridge, giving me medicine."

That was the old me. I remembered it all too well. But those days felt like a distant memory now, belonging to someone else entirely.

Once, Ronan had a stomachache, so I requested leave from my duties to bring him medicine to the pack hall. Unfortunately, rain caught me on the way, leaving my fur and clothes drenched, a dripping mess by the time I arrived.

But the day only worsened. His packmates chuckled at my soaked appearance, their laughter echoing through the hall. Ronan didn't so much as defend me amd instead, he joined in their amusement. To add insult to injury, he scolded me after, saying, "Don't ever come here again. You're an embarrassment."

Now, as Ronan stood before me, his irritation clear, I couldn't help but remember that moment.

"You look perfectly fine," I said, my tone clipped. "And you don't seem to be in any pain. We might be out of medicine, though, so you'll probably have to fetch some yourself."

I turned away, rolling my eyes out of his sight.

Ronan's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling over. He grabbed my arm, his voice a harsh growl. "Nyra, how long are you going to punish me over Jasmine? I told you, there's nothing between us!"

"Oh, okay," I replied. My voice is steady, almost bored, a sharp contrast to his escalating anger.

My indifference only stoked the fire further. He let out a frustrated snarl, releasing my arm before storming off. I didn't need to ask where he was going. I already knew.

Days blurred together into an endless haze. After leaving, Ronan didn't return to the den for several nights, and I didn't bother asking where he was. On the third day, his voice brushed faintly against our bonded link.

"I'll be out on patrol for a few more days. Don't expect me back tonight."

"Stay safe," I replied, my tone devoid of warmth. A bitter chuckle slipped past my lips as I severed the connection.

With my injuries healed, I turned my attention back to work. Carrying a heavy basket strapped to my back, I joined my colleagues for a foraging trip. The pack's reserves were running low, so we ventured to the nearby meadow to restock.

As we trekked the familiar path, faint laughter floated through the trees. The sound guided my gaze to a wide, sunlit meadow where wildflowers stretched endlessly.

There, amidst the blooms, stood Ronan. He held a young pup in his arms, their laughter mingling in the air. They picked flowers, the child's giggles echoing his deep chuckles. Nearby, Jasmine handed them drinks, her voice soft and affectionate.

The scene looked picturesque, a perfect little family enjoying a serene day. My colleagues whispered amongst themselves, their glances darting between the "family of three" and me.

But I didn't care anymore. The fire of anger or sorrow had burned out long ago, leaving only hollow indifference. When Ronan might return ceased to matter. The question no longer lingered in my mind.

Later that evening, I stepped out of the pack healer's lodge to find Ronan unexpectedly waiting for me. His silhouette leaned casually against a post, holding a bouquet of flowers—wildflowers I'd seen him pick with Jasmine and her pup earlier.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, exhaustion weighing down my voice.

"Did you forget?" he said softly. "It's our bonding anniversary."

"Oh." My gaze dropped to the ground. "I've been busy. It must've slipped my mind."

Ronan's expression darkened, his disbelief palpable. "Nyra, you used to care about this more than anyone. How could you forget?"

Had I forgotten? No. I remembered every detail of past anniversaries—the carefully planned dinners, the thoughtful surprises. Yet, my efforts had often been dismissed as "too much" or "embarrassing." The memory of him pulling me aside during one celebration, whispering harshly, still stung.

Now, as he stood before me, searching for a spark of the old me, I couldn't summon the energy to pretend.

"Let's go have dinner," he said, his tone an attempt at levity.

I followed silently. He stole glances at me along the way, clearly uncomfortable with my indifference.

"Nyra, what's wrong?" he asked finally. "Are you upset?"

"No," I replied flatly.

"No?" he echoed, his voice rising in frustration. "Then why the attitude? Here I am, putting in the effort, picking you up for dinner. Can't you at least pretend to appreciate it?"

"I'm not angry, Ronan."

"Fine!" He let out a long sigh. "I promise, no more contact with Jasmine again, okay?"

I stared at him. Did he really think a simple gesture could erase months of lies and betrayal?

"Are you happy now?" he asked again.

I didn't answer and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

When we arrived at our den, it was decorated with flowers, a meal carefully laid out on the table. The scene was picturesque; the effort was clear.

Before I could say anything, Jasmine burst through the doorway, her voice frantic.

"Ronan!" She cried, ignoring my presence. "Kyle has a fever!"

"A fever?" Ronan's brow furrowed, worry etched on his face. "Do you have any medicine?" His concern was palpable until his gaze flickered toward me. Noticing my silent presence, he hesitated, swallowing his words. "I... I have plans today. I can't—"

"Please, Ronan!" Jasmine interrupted, desperation in her voice. "He's burning up, and it's so bad he's delirious. I don't know what to do!"

Ronan flinched, his posture stiffening as he glanced at me. His amber eyes carried guilt and unease.

"Nyra," he said hesitantly, "you see… her pup is sick. I need to—"

"It's fine," I interrupted, my voice cold. "Go. The pup's health is important."

He hesitated, torn between his obligation to her and me. "Wait for me," he murmured. "I'll be back soon."

With that, he grabbed his cloak, the faint scent of his familiar musk lingering in the air as he hurried out into the night.

Left alone, I stared at the untouched meal on the table, my appetite fading like the warmth of his presence. Sudden rain slammed against the windowpanes, echoing the tears I stubbornly refused to let fall.

With a deep sigh, I picked up my fork and ate in silence, finishing the meal alone in the hollow echo of the empty den.