Deceit Led to Daughter's Death

The first photograph came down on a Tuesday morning, while Luke was at the clinic tending to Nathan's supposed allergic reaction to breakfast cereal. I stood on the stepladder in our living room, carefully lifting the silver-framed wedding photo from its place of honor above the mantelpiece. Our younger selves smiled back at me—Luke in his ceremonial Alpha suit, me in the flowing white dress that had belonged to his grandmother. We looked so happy, so certain of our forever.

I placed it face-down in the donation box I'd positioned by the front door.

Celeste whimpered in my mind as I moved to the next frame—our mating ceremony, surrounded by the entire pack. Luke's hand rested possessively on my waist, his eyes bright with pride and love. That man felt like a stranger now.

"Thirty days," I whispered to myself, adding the frame to the box. "Twenty-nine now."

By the time Luke returned that evening, reeking of Zoey's vanilla perfume and full of apologies about Nathan's 'emergency,' I had removed seventeen photographs. In their place, I'd hung portraits of Emma—her first day of school, her seventh birthday party, her bright smile as she held up a drawing of our family. The walls now told a different story, one of a mother's love and a daughter's light.

Luke paused in the doorway, his brow furrowing as he scanned the room. "Did you... redecorate?"

"I'm honoring our daughter's memory," I said simply, not looking up from the book I was pretending to read. "I thought you'd approve."

He nodded absently, already reaching for his phone as it buzzed with another message. Probably Zoey, wondering if Nathan needed a midnight check for imaginary symptoms.

"That's... that's good, Isabella. Emma deserves to be remembered."

But he was already walking away, heading upstairs to shower off the scent of his betrayal. He hadn't even noticed that our mating portrait was gone.

The next morning found me at Emma's grave, my arms full of her favorite things. I'd stopped by the toy store at dawn, buying every item that had once made her eyes light up—the stuffed unicorn she'd begged for last Christmas, the set of colored pencils she'd used to draw our family, the little wooden wolf figurine she'd carried everywhere until she'd lost it in the woods.

The morning mist clung to the headstone as I arranged the toys carefully around the fresh earth. Each placement felt like a prayer, a promise that her mother would never forget what mattered most.

"I'm going to make this right, baby girl," I whispered, kneeling beside the grave. "Daddy chose to protect the wrong child, but Mama's going to make sure he understands what that cost us."

A cardinal landed on the headstone, its red feathers bright against the gray marble. Emma had always said cardinals were messages from the Moon Goddess. I chose to believe she was telling me to be strong.

"Luna Isabella?"

I turned to find Sarah Mitchell, one of the pack mothers, approaching with obvious hesitation. Her expression held the uncomfortable mix of sympathy and judgment that I'd grown accustomed to seeing.

"Sarah." I stood, brushing dirt from my knees.

"I... we've been worried about you. You've missed the last three Luna council meetings, and the charity fundraiser planning committee is wondering when you'll return to your duties."

The audacity of it hit me like a physical blow. "My duties?"

"Well, yes. The pack needs its Luna, especially during difficult times. People are starting to talk about your... absence from pack responsibilities."

Something cold and sharp crystallized in my chest. "Let me understand this correctly, Sarah. My daughter has been dead for less than a week, and you're concerned about fundraiser planning?"

She flinched at my tone, but pressed on. "Of course we're all grieving Emma's loss, but the pack—"

"Where was the pack when Emma needed protection?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to the dangerous quiet that made even Alphas pause. "Where were all these concerned pack members when she was calling for her father during a rogue attack?"

"Luna, that's not fair. Alpha Anderson was—"

"Alpha Anderson was playing house with his first love while his daughter bled out alone." The words came out like shards of ice. "So tell me, Sarah, where exactly has our devoted Alpha been during these 'difficult times'? Have you seen him at any council meetings? Any pack events? Or has he been too busy with Zoey and Nathan to remember he has other responsibilities?"

Sarah's face went pale. "I... that's not... we shouldn't question the Alpha's—"

"But you'll question mine?" I laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "My daughter is dead, Sarah. She died because the people who were supposed to protect her chose to protect someone else instead. So forgive me if I'm not particularly concerned about your fundraiser right now."

I turned back to Emma's grave, dismissing her with the gesture. "When you find our Alpha, you can ask him about his duties. I'll be here, doing mine—remembering the child everyone else seems eager to forget."

Sarah retreated without another word, but I could feel her shock and uncertainty radiating behind her. Good. Let her carry that discomfort back to the pack. Let them all start asking the questions they should have been asking all along.

Twenty-eight days left.