Lavender’s mind wandered to the mornings she could barely face. She remembered standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Cedar move around, preparing breakfast for Fern. He never used to cook, not even for her. She watched as they shared quiet laughter over plates of food, their heads leaning close together like they were the only two people in the world. Afterward, Cedar would leave for patrols with his warriors, never once looking back at her.
The nights were worse. Cedar’s side of the bed was cold and empty more often than not. Fern’s constant demands had stolen him away, her wolf insisting she could only rest when Cedar was close. Lavender learned to shut her ears to the noise that spilled from the guest room—moans, whispers, the creak of the bed frame. She buried her face in her pillow, forcing herself to pretend it wasn’t happening.
But pretending didn’t stop the pain.
One morning, desperate for fresh air, Lavender walked into the garden. The crisp scent of flowers did little to soothe her as her eyes caught sight of Fern, surrounded by a group of women, giggling and chatting as the bitch held a pregnancy test in her hand.