My Luna Has Returned

Seven years had passed, and I felt utterly numb. Tears had left my eyes irritated, and the weight on my chest felt like an elephant sitting on it. My wolf inside me howled in pain, reflecting the agony in my heart. I couldn't bear to leave the cemetery, where my deceased father lay at rest. The pain was overwhelming.

My mother had passed away three years earlier from cancer, but at least her passing had been painless. I was grateful she didn't have to suffer. With her gone, my father became my anchor, and together, we coped with the loss. Taking care of him and the house helped keep me occupied. I had been working since the age of fifteen to support the family who took me in when I had no one else. They didn't need the extra money, but I couldn't stand idly by, knowing the sacrifices they made for me.

My father had been my best friend. We shared a love for books, discussing them after I finished reading. But now, he was gone, and the pain of being alone was unbearable. With no children of their own, only a few friends attended his funeral, most of them no longer alive themselves.

I had deliberately avoided close friendships because I couldn't bear the pain of loss, especially after my mother's death. But now, with both my parents gone, I felt utterly lost.

Yesterday, the lawyer read my parents' will. They left everything to me— the house, their belongings, and a substantial amount of money they had carefully saved over sixty years. But despite this wealth, my mind was elsewhere, still longing for my father's presence.

Deciding to keep the house as a remnant of my parents, I chose to rent it to an organization dedicated to rescuing trafficked girls, providing them safety until they could find a secure home. The condition was that they kept the house intact, and I allowed them to keep most of the furniture except for the items with sentimental value, which I stored away.

Feeling suffocated, I knew I had to leave and breathe, allowing my wolf to run free. Once I settled the affairs related to the house and my parents' belongings, I planned to pursue my dream destination: Russia. As much as I disliked the idea of leaving my parents' graves alone, they had each other, and I believed they would understand.

Whispering "I love you, mom and dad" to their resting places side by side, I still couldn't grasp the reality that they were gone forever. We had shared just eleven precious years together, which had passed like a blur. Now, I longed to go back in time and savor those moments a little longer. Eleven years were too short when it came to the people you loved.

Although I yearned to find my biological parents, fear of a blood test revealing my non-human nature held me back. Still, I knew I would figure it out eventually. For now, it was time to focus on myself and discover who I truly was, now that I had no one else to lean on.

...

Moving on is an arduous process, regardless of the circumstances. My connection with my adoptive parents ran deep. They not only saved my life but also became the first people I formed memories with after the incident. Now that they were gone forever, it left me shattered.

Detaching myself from their memory took weeks. The thought of parting with their belongings, their essence, threatened to tear me apart. But I knew they would forever hold a place in my heart. My adoptive parents would never be forgotten.

Leaving for an uncertain period brought some comfort knowing they would be there when I returned. Just before boarding the plane, I gazed at the stars, feeling their presence watching over me. Somehow, I knew they were proud that I was embarking on my first independent journey.

As I handed my ticket to the woman at the gate, she directed me to my business-class seat. I wanted to be comfortable during the long flight, fearing a panic attack in the cramped economy section. Strangers made me anxious, and the thought of sitting beside one for hours stressed me out. So, I indulged myself with this treat.

Stowing my bag under the seat, I settled by the window, still in disbelief that I was going to Russia. The idea seemed crazy, considering I was always the odd girl at school who stuck close to her parents, who others often mistook for grandparents. I had skipped camping trips, fearing something might happen to my mom while I was away, leaving me disconnected from my classmates.

While they laughed at me, I never bothered to explain the real reasons behind my behavior. Those classmates were just nameless faces, and their opinions meant nothing to me. However, I sometimes regretted not becoming more independent while my parents were still alive, unprepared for the life that awaited me once they were gone.

Thankfully, my parents had equipped me with essential skills like cooking, cleaning, and sewing. My dad even taught me car repair and wilderness survival. Although I could fend for myself, it didn't lessen the void they left behind.

With my eyes closed, the plane accelerated, and I thanked my parents silently for the life they provided and the woman I had become. Embarking on my own adventure filled me with both excitement and fear, wondering what experiences awaited me.