The night was colder than usual in Werewolf City, a place where werewolves such as myself could pretend to be normal human beings. I had just finished my shift at work and was ready to head home.

The streets were quiet, but I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, so my instincts immediately told me that something felt off. As I walked, I heard rustling in the shadows.

Before I could react, a huge wolf lunged at me. It was wild and snarling, its eyes glowing with primal rage. I fumbled for my phone, desperate to call Samuel. I hit speed dial, but no answer. Panic surged through me. I had seen enough rogue attacks to know how this could end.

Since I was completely alone, I knew that I had no other choice but to fight. I grabbed a nearby trash can lid, my only defense, to buy myself time to shift to my wolf form. I swung the lid, just as he was about to land on me, and since the wolf was massive, the contact felt weak.

It didn't do much to stop the rouge, so my heart raced as it lunged again. I managed to hit it the second time, but it only seemed to anger the creature more. It knocked me to the ground, pain shooting through my side.

Reacting quickly, I tried shifting to be able to defend myself more. Soon, I was having a vicious battle with the massive werewolf. It kept swinging and slashing at me, throwing me everywhere, so I thought I wouldn't make it. I wanted to yell for help, but I was too preoccupied trying to survive.

Then, I saw them. A group of my friends, fellow werewolves, rushed toward us. They shouted, their voices fierce and commanding. The wolf hesitated, sensing them. They quickly surrounded the rogue beast, forcing it back. Relief washed over me as the threat disappeared into the night. But the pain didn’t fade.

I woke up in the werewolf hospital. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air. I could barely move.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked, as he checked my vitals. I tried to smile, but the pain made it hard.

"I think I'm going to make it," I answered, wanting to act tough.

"Yes, you're going to make it. You sustained a lot of injuries and deep wounds, but you’re going to be okay since your healing abilities are kicking in," he said.

Then she paused, looking at my chart. "There’s something else. You’re pregnant."

My heart stopped. The shock of it hit me harder than the attack earlier. I had just faced death, and now I was facing something new.

My eyes widened at the thought, wondering how it was even possible since Samuel and I weren't mates.

"What?" I whispered, disbelief and worry mixing in my expression.

I felt a wave of emotions crash over me. A new life was growing inside me. But fear crept back. I unconsciously placed my hand over my stomach, asking myself 'What would this mean for us, for the baby?'

As I stared at the doctor, waiting for him to explain, I couldn't help but feel anxious. For a moment, he looked as if he felt sorry for me. "Miss Ashwood, I'm sorry to say this, but due to your injuries, the baby didn’t make it."

Suddenly, the weight of that loss crashed over me like a tidal wave. I felt hollow, like a shell washed ashore. And then, the thought of Samuel hit me like a jolt. He needed to know. I wanted to share everything—the hope I felt, the dreams I had, now all gone.

For the final time, I tried reaching Samuel, but like before, he wasn't answering my call. I had no choice but to wait until the doctor had finally allowed me to go home, and as I stepped into the waiting area, my heart sank.

There he was, laughing with Samantha Grey, a new coworker. The way they interacted stung. It was as if my pain was invisible, and here he was, flirting like nothing had ever happened to me. Flirting, while I had to face the loss on my own when he was just nearby. I wanted to scream, to run to him, but I felt paralyzed.

I turned away, my heart aching. I couldn't bear to watch anymore. Leaving the hospital felt like escaping a nightmare, but I was heading into another. I wanted to believe he would notice my absence, that he would come looking for me, but deep down, I knew. He didn't care what I did. The thought twisted inside me like a knife.

When I finally got home, I felt empty. I sat on the edge of our bed, the silence pressing down. Memories of us flooded my mind—laughter, late-night talks, dreams shared. Now, it felt like a cruel joke. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold onto something real. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him with her. The laughter, the connection. It was too much to bear.

I took a deep breath. I needed to find my path now. I couldn't hold onto the image of what we had. I had to focus on healing and on moving forward. No more waiting for someone who wasn't waiting for me. I had to reclaim my life, one step at a time.

As I thought of a plan for what to do with my life now, I walked around the house, the air thick with memories of what could have been. The baby we lost haunted every corner. I thought about Samuel and how he seemed to shift since Samantha entered the picture.

A sense of betrayal welled up inside me. Anger bubbled over, directed at both of them. I had never seen them together, but I could feel their connection. It cut deep.

Samuel and I weren’t mates. That was clear. I understand that now. We didn’t share that bond that tied so many together for life. I didn’t have to stay. I could leave. I could reclaim my life. The thought of it breathed a flicker of hope into my heart, even as the anger still simmered. I thought of packing my things and finding a place where I could start fresh.

Just then, my phone rang, breaking through the storm of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen. It was my father. A rush of mixed emotions washed over me. He was always there, steady and reliable, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his voice right now, so I hesitated.

But I knew I had to answer. I took a breath and pressed the button.

"Dad?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"What’s going on?" He suddenly asked as if he could sense my turmoil.

I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to tell him everything. About the loss. About Samuel. About the anger, but the words caught.

"Just…thinking," I said finally. "About life, choices."

I could hear him pause on the other end. I knew he’d want to help, but how could I explain the mess I was in? I needed to figure this out on my own first. And maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to let go of the anger and find peace.

"Think no further. Tamara, you need to come home. There’s an important matter with the pack."

His voice was steady, but I sensed urgency beneath it. My heart raced. I had always known this day would come, but I wasn’t ready. The thought of becoming beta filled me with dread. Could I really live up to my father’s legacy as the current beta of our pack?

I remembered all the times I had trained under him. The lessons on leadership, loyalty, and strength. I admired my father, but he made it look so easy. I felt the weight of expectation pressing down on me.

I recalled the stories of past leaders, their triumphs and failures. I felt like an imposter, standing on the threshold of a role I wasn’t sure I could handle. What if I failed? What if the pack didn’t accept me? I couldn’t shake the doubt.

I needed time to think. Everything was happening all at once and it was becoming overwhelming. I wanted to get away from Samuel, but I also wasn't sure if going back home to the pack was the right choice. I didn't want to let my father down again, but the idea of what could happen when I came home was gnawing at me.

"I know this is urgent, Dad, but I have to think about this," I replied, trying to mask the uncertainty in my voice.

He released a sigh of disappointment but didn't argue with my request.

"I'll give you two days to decide, but Tamara, this shouldn't be up for discussion," he warned before hanging up.

Just then I walked into the backyard of the house and stood outside under the moonlight. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine. I looked up, the stars twinkling like eyes watching me. I thought about my pack, my family, and how much they were counting on me.

My heart ached at the thought of letting them down all over again. In that moment, clarity washed over me. I realized I had to face my fears because I wouldn’t know how things would end until I tried.

I picked up my phone again and dialed my father’s number. "I’m coming home," I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

Just as I hung the phone up, Samuel walked through the door, looking drained. His eyes were heavy, and his shoulders slumped. I knew he had been working long hours, but I also knew that he was only acting because a few hours ago, he was laughing with Samantha.

I wanted to call his bluff, but thinking that it would be exhausting to argue with him, I decided not to say anything. I watched him drop his bag on the floor and stretch. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

'I'm tired. Long day. You know how it is," he told me, running a hand through his hair.

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. I wanted to ask him about his long day with Samantha, but I held back. What good would it do? So, I turned away, pretending to clean up the kitchen, but the scars on my arms and neck that hadn't healed fast enough yet caught his attention as they were still red and angry, remnants of the attack.

"What happened to you? Why do you have those?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"Just a little mishap on my way home. No big deal," I said lightly.

He frowned. "You called me a few times. Was that the reason why?"

"Yeah, but like I said, it wasn't a big deal," I answered with a shrug and continued to clean.

Samuel had always thought of himself as perceptive, so he somehow sensed that something about me felt off today. He watched my every move, absentmindedly letting his fingers tap on his phone.

He knew that even though I answered his question, my voice was flat and devoid of the warmth he expected. It was like talking to a wall, instead of someone who was completely enamored by him. He leaned forward, trying to catch my gaze, but I completely ignored him.

“What’s your problem?” He finally asked, his voice low but firm.

"I don't have one." I shrugged again—a gesture that felt like a dismissal.

"Oh, really? Because it looks to me that you're upset about something," he said, scowling for good measure.

"If that's what you want to believe, then that's what you want to believe," I told him, staring at him directly in the eye.

Just as he was ready to push harder, his phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at it and immediately looked relieved by the distraction.

"I’ll take this."

Samuel hurriedly walked toward our home office and locked himself in as he took the call. Emotionally drained and mentally exhausted, I trudged toward the bedroom with heavy footsteps. The weight of the day pressed down on me like a thick fog.

Each step felt like a reminder of my chaotic life, but as I passed the office, I heard Samuel's voice. It was sweet and soft, almost like a lullaby. My heart sank because it didn’t take long for me to guess who was on the other end. Samantha.

She was everything I wasn’t. Charming, fun, and apparently, the center of Samuel's attention as of the moment. I felt a surge of anger mixed with sadness. Hearing him talk to her, the laughter in his voice shattered my resolve. I was done.

I was ready to escape. Home felt like a place of safety, a refuge from the mess my life had become. I didn’t care how upset Samuel would be. I needed to prioritize myself for a change, so I pulled out my phone for the final time and texted my father. 'I’m coming home sooner than we talked about.' It was a simple message, but it held a weight of its own.