Camila's POV

I luxuriated in the overwhelming sense of bliss, relishing the inexplicable joy coursing through me. Shouldn't I feel remorseful for belonging to the most wretched pack imaginable? Yet, lying here on this plush bed, basking in the tranquil breeze, I yearned for this moment of serenity to last indefinitely. Reality, however, beckoned me back, reminding me that I couldn't revel in peacefulness forever. I couldn't afford even a moment's respite, but why did it feel as though I had been transported to heaven? My thoughts abruptly halted as distressing memories flooded my mind. In a jolt of realization, I shot up from the bed, hastily opening my eyes. Without delay, I sprang to my feet, swiftly securing my hair into a ponytail, and hurried downstairs to prepare breakfast for the pack.

But as my surroundings finally registered in my consciousness, my jaw dropped in disbelief. I struggled to comprehend if this breathtaking scene before me was real or a figment of my vivid imagination. Whatever it was, it held an undeniable beauty. Stumbling on my own feet, I stood dumbfounded, captivated by the enchanting panorama that unfolded. I lost my balance and landed on the ground, cushioned by a carpet of grass. Towering trees adorned with vibrant flowers, butterflies dancing in the air, and birds reveling in the serenity of nature—it was a sight to behold. A nearby stream added to the magnificence of the picture.

Regaining my composure, I found myself clad in a simple yet elegant white and gold dress, its beauty stealing my breath away. A gasp escaped my lips in awe, contemplating who this exquisite dress might belong to. I had never had the opportunity to wear something so resplendent. I cautiously twirled, admiring its graceful contours, wary of causing any damage to its allure.

Was this a dream, or...? Suddenly, the reason for my awakening surged back into my consciousness. Fear instantly gripped me, extinguishing all the preceding happiness in an instant.

Could this be what I think it is? Am I dead?

"No, dear, you are not," a soft yet familiar voice chimed in. Startled, I turned in the direction of the voice, and a gasp reverberated through the air as I beheld a sight I thought I would never witness.

There, standing before me, adorned in a dress similar to mine, was the person I loved most in the world... my mother, wearing her signature radiant smile.

I gazed at her intently, refusing to divert my eyes or even blink for a moment. Questioning whether it could be a mere figment of my imagination, I surveyed my surroundings, savoring the captivating scenery. Yet, my traitorous eyes involuntarily gravitated toward the one person who stood out amidst the splendor—my mom.

My heart raced, unable to accept the reality before me. She couldn't be here, or perhaps she could be. But first and foremost, where was I? How had I ended up in this place? Shouldn't I be in the pack hospital or, worse yet, in the morgue?

"Don't, dear. Don't dwell on such thoughts," her melodious voice interjected, halting my train of thought. My eyes, without any conscious command, fixated on her.

No, this couldn't be real. I couldn't be here. It must be a trick played by my mind, a foolish game of emotions. Why subject me to such an intense rollercoaster? I blinked repeatedly, hoping that when I opened my eyes, she would no longer be there. Yet, to my surprise, she remained, wearing a slightly perplexed expression. Closing my eyes briefly, I reopened them, only to find her still standing in the same spot.

Rubbing my eyes in disbelief, I mustered the courage to ask, "Mom, is that really you? Are you truly here, or am I trapped in a dream?"

"Sort of. I exist within your mind, but I am still real. If you doubt me, why don't you come closer and embrace your momma? Then you can decide for yourself if I'm real or not," she replied in her tender, motherly tone.

Initially hesitant, I took a couple of hesitant steps, filled with trepidation. However, as I witnessed her steadfast presence and her angelic smile, I threw caution to the wind. Without a second thought, I sprinted toward her with all my might, wrapping my arms around her tightly, afraid that releasing my grip would cause her to vanish.

"Oh, Mom, I missed you so much," I sobbed.

"I know, my dear, and I've missed you too," my mom replied, holding me just as tightly as I held her.

"I love you, Mom," I cried, burying my face in her neck. My parents were the only ones in front of whom I could shed tears without feeling embarrassed. I released all the pain, hurt, and agony that had been bottled up inside me for years.

"I love you too, baby, and we're sorry we left you to face the world alone," she replied, a tear slipping from her eye as she gently stroked my hair.

Wiping away her tears, I responded, "No, Mom, it wasn't your fault. It was mine. If I hadn't insisted on going to the theater, none of this would have happened. I'm so sorry, Mom. It's all my fault." The weight of the terrible memories that took my parents away from me overwhelmed me, and loud sobs escaped from deep within.

"Hush now, don't blame yourself, dear. Everything happens for a reason. You were just a child, but we were the adults. We should have been more careful," she comforted, tracing soothing circles on my back. It always worked—whenever I was upset or sad, she would hold me in her arms, whispering sweet words and stroking my back, instantly calming me.

Yet, a nagging feeling told me that something was amiss. As I tried to pinpoint it, realization dawned upon me—I couldn't see my dad.

"Mom, where's Dad?" I asked anxiously.

"He's right behind you, dear," she cheerfully replied. My mother always had a radiant smile, no matter how much trouble we faced. She would assure us that everything would be okay, and seeing her smile would make half of my worries disappear. My dad loved that quality of her.

Without hesitation, I swiftly turned around and found my dad looking at me with a smile on his face. He was not a man who readily displayed his emotions; he was rather reserved in that regard. However, it didn't mean that he didn't love us. He was the best father one could ever have. He was a man of few words, but beneath his stoic exterior, he was the most sentimental man.

Dressed in a shirt and jeans, he looked as handsome as ever. At the sight of him, I released my grip on my mother and lunged into a tight bear hug with my dad.

"Dad, Dad, I missed you," I whimpered, feeling a rush of emotions overwhelmed me once again.

"No, baby girl, don't be upset. Look here," my dad said, gently holding my chin. I gazed up at him, into his beautiful silver eyes, the same eyes I inherited from him, although mine lacked the vibrancy and life he possessed.

"You're my brave little girl, aren't you?" I nodded.

"Then, Papa's girl doesn't cry," he said, using the endearing term I had missed so much.

"No," I replied, mustering a smile that reached my eyes. After all these years, I was genuinely smiling again.

My mom joined my dad, radiating her motherly affection through her eyes.

As I glanced around, my smile faded, and I knew it was time to ask the question I had been dreading since their appearance. "Am I going to live with you here? I absolutely love this place, and most importantly, you'll be here with me."

My mom's smile vanished at my question, and she exchanged a sorrowful glance with my dad before responding, "We're sorry, dear, but your life isn't over yet. You have so much to do, so much to see, so much to accomplish, and you have to find your true love too—your mate." She ended with an excited squeal, resembling a little girl.

My heart fluttered at the mention of my mate. However, I doubted she realized that, after my parents' death, I had become nothing more than an omega, a punching bag, a nobody. My mate would never accept me.

"No, Mom, no one wants a mate like me. I'm certain he will reject me," I whispered, my voice cracking towards the end.

My mom suddenly embraced me, holding me tightly. "How can you be so sure about him? You've never met him before. Don't judge him before you know him. Don't you know that mates can't live without each other? Even though you're an omega, he will accept you," she reassured me, her voice filled with confidence, attempting to instill hope within me.

"Don't say that, baby girl. One day, you will find your true love, your mate. He will cherish you, protect you, and you will be very happy with him," my dad said, smiling warmly.

"As you say, Dad," I replied, not wanting to burden them with my worries. I wanted to fully embrace this moment with them.

"Dear, you should go now. You've been unconscious for five days, and besides, today is your birthday," my mom said, her voice filled with joy as she mentioned in the last part.

Wait, what? I've been unconscious for five days? Oh no, that means extra work. Why do I have such a lazy pack? They can't handle their own tasks. And wait a second, did she say birthday?

"Oh my, I'm going to be 18! That means I'll find my mate," I groaned at the end, but my parents simply nodded happily. (Sigh)

What if he rejects me? The thought crept into my mind, and I found myself sinking into worries about my future mate.

"Camila Wilson, don't you dare say such things about our mate. How many times do I have to tell you that mates are our other half? We can't live without each other. He will not reject us," my wolf growled, leaving no room for argument. Sometimes, I resented her strong-willed nature.

"Ellinor is right, dear. Stop worrying and enjoy it," my mom reassured me with her soothing voice.

"Yeah, after I find him, I don't think I'll be able to smile again," I muttered to myself, hoping they wouldn't hear.

"Happy birthday, and remember, we both love you, baby girl," my father said, pulling me into a hug.

"Will I see you both again?" I asked, tears forming in my eyes.

My mom embraced me tightly and whispered, "We are always there with you, dear." She pulled back slightly, allowing herself to see my face, and placed a hand over my heart. "Here." A genuine smile graced my features.

Everything started to fade into darkness. The last words I heard before succumbing completely to the darkness were my parents telling me, "We love you, Issa."

Only my parents would call me by that name, and I allowed myself to be consumed by the comforting embrace of darkness.