HE REJECTED ME FOR MY YOUNGER SISTER

The next morning, the house buzzes with excitement. Luggage rolls across the floor. Boots stomp. Voices overlap. Omegas rush to and fro with instructions. Everyone has a place, a purpose.

Except me.

I stand by the stairs, watching them bustle around. Elias moves through the foyer, checking his travel bag while Anaiah zips up her dress. Callan adjusts the cuff of his ceremonial coat, barking an order to a young warrior who looks too nervous to reply.

None of them look at me.

None of them even ask if I’ll be joining them.

I should be used to this now. But it still stings, like a thorn pressed deeper each time you pretend it isn’t there.

Astrid enters last, glowing in a fitted white dress that catches the sunlight like polished bone. Her hair is swept over one shoulder, her red lipstick perfect.

She looks like a queen. But she isn't one. Not truly.

She leans close to Callan, whispering something in his ear that makes him smirk. Then she glances at me, eyes full of something between pity and triumph.

I turn away and head upstairs. I can’t watch this. Not again.

My hands shake as I reach for the wardrobe. There, tucked in the back, is a leather case I haven’t opened in years. My old travel satchel. I run my fingers over it slowly, remembering when Callan gave it to me after our mating ceremony.

"For all the places we’ll go together," he had said.

What a cruel joke.

I place it on the bed and unzip it. Empty, like me. I fill it with the essentials—just enough to survive. A few clothes. My old dagger. The crescent pendant from my mother. The travel journal I never got to use.

Downstairs, someone calls my name.

I hesitate, then move to the top of the stairs.

Callan stands there, arms crossed. "Did you pack Elias’s ceremonial robes? I told you to handle that yesterday."

My voice is quiet. "I did. They’re in the third bag."

He doesn’t say thank you. Just nods and walks off like I’m a servant.

Astrid’s laughter floats up the stairs.

I retreat to my room, heart thudding against my ribs like a trapped animal.

I sit on the bed and take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. But the more I try to hold it back, the stronger it gets. My wolf paces beneath my skin, agitated, growling low.

And I let her.

I don’t have to be calm anymore.

A few hours pass before I hear the commotion downstairs. Something’s wrong.

I head down, heart pounding. The foyer is chaos. Bags thrown open. Voices panicked.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

No one answers me. Not until I hear Astrid’s voice—sharp and accusing.

“Hans’s passport is missing.”

Hans is Elias and Anaiah’s son. My grandson.

Callan turns toward me, eyes blazing. “You packed his things. Where is it?”

“I packed it in the front pocket of his blue bag,” I reply.

Astrid lifts the bag, unzips it, and pulls out clothes. No passport.

“It’s not here,” she says, looking directly at me.

“I know I packed it,” I say firmly.

Callan steps closer, his face cold. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” I snap. “Maybe someone moved it.”

Astrid’s eyes glint. “How convenient.”

Callan raises his hand, and I flinch. But the slap never lands.

Instead, he hisses through gritted teeth, “I should’ve known. You’ve been acting off all week. You did this on purpose.”

“No, I didn’t!” My voice cracks, not from guilt but disbelief. “You think I’d sabotage my own grandson’s trip?”

“You’ve always hated when we travel,” Astrid says sweetly. “It’s not a stretch.”

Anaiah steps forward, holding something in her hands.

The passport.

“I found it,” she says softly. “I must’ve moved it when I was rearranging my things. I’m sorry.”

Silence.

My chest heaves, but no one says anything. Not even an apology.

Callan looks away.

Astrid huffs and grabs a bottle of perfume from her bag, spraying herself casually like none of this just happened.

The damage is done. And no one cares.

I walk out the front door and into the garden. My knees hit the ground, but I don’t cry. I can’t.

Instead, I claw at the earth, nails digging into the dirt. The ground smells like spring, like rebirth. Like something new trying to break through.

I whisper, “Please. Just show me who I am again.”

And then something inside me breaks wide open.

The wind shifts. The air thickens.

A low rumble vibrates beneath my skin.

My bones ache, my chest burns, and for the first time in years, my wolf surges forward, claws pressing against my ribs, eyes blazing behind mine.

I see her. She’s not gentle. She’s not quiet.

She is furious. And she is awake.

I rise slowly, my breath shaking, heart thundering.

I go back inside. The family is gathered near the cars, hugging, laughing, preparing for the drive to the airstrip.

No one notices me watching from the staircase.

Callan kisses Astrid on the cheek.

Elias loads the final bags.

Anaiah holds Hans, brushing his hair back.

And I finally understand. This isn’t my home anymore.

It never was.

I walk back upstairs. My satchel waits on the bed.

I zip it up, sling it over my shoulder, and take one last look around the room that once held my whole life.

I won’t miss it. The house will belong to ghosts soon.

But I will not be one of them.

I leave a letter on the pillow.

No goodbyes. Only a single sentence.

"When the moonlight returns, you’ll remember what you lost."