There was no coffin waiting for me. No candles burning low. No whispered prayers or mourning veils. And yet I was grieving. Not for him. Not even for the ruin of our marriage. I mourned myself—the girl I used to be. The reckless flame who laughed too loudly and loved too fiercely, before I dimmed her light for his comfort. Before I clipped my wings, blunted my claws, and bent myself smaller so I could fit inside his expectations.
I mourned every piece of myself I buried in quiet compromises. Every version of me that faded when I chose him over my own blood and fire. Until all that was left was a hollow thing—a shadow drifting through the remains of the wolf I once was.
His footsteps passed the door. His laugh followed, low and cruel. He was still on the phone, but he paused just long enough to bark, “Pack my bags. It’s business mixed with pleasure. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
No glance.
No courtesy.
Only command.
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. When his voice disappeared down the hall, I dried my hands on the crooked towel and walked into his room like a servant answering her master’s call.