I stood up calmly, walked to my room, and dropped to my knees. From beneath the bed, I pulled out the bag I had hidden years ago. My hands didn’t shake. I packed only what truly mattered. Everything else could decay alongside them.
At the airport, my phone vibrated.
Stay home while we’re gone. A week. Don’t screw anything up.
Another message followed immediately.
I shouldn’t have hit you. But you pushed me. If you weren’t so jealous all the time, things wouldn’t end like this. You bring it on yourself.
I read the words once. Then again. And something deep inside me—ancient, feral, long restrained—finally broke free. I blocked his number, erased the conversation, and slipped my phone away.
The smile that touched my lips wasn’t happiness.
It was my wolf awakening at last, teeth bared, eyes clear.
I was finished protecting a house that had never sheltered me.
Finished pretending this place was home.
I was returning to the only place that ever truly was.
Back to my pack.
Back to blood and roots.
Back to the forest where my name still echoed.
I was going home.
