I SPENT FIFTEEN YEARS AS HIS LUNA THEN HE CALLED ME USELESS

“I—I’ll change the cake,” I said softly, reaching for the plate before he could push it further toward the sink.

Edwin dropped his fork with a loud clatter that made me flinch.

“Really, Selene?” His tone cut straight through me. “Still upset about the Sanctum thing? This is your idea of retaliation? Serving me this mess? You didn’t even try.”

He pushed the half-cut cake away with a look of disdain. “This is supposed to be your job”

Your job.

That phrase echoed louder than his accusation.

To him, that was all it was.

Keeping the pack house perfect. Making sure everything stayed smooth and presentable for him.

He never noticed the calendar reminders I set for warrior rotations, the budget approvals for the new daycare.

The late nights I spent balancing the pack’s funds, the scholarship program I managed for wolves studying in the human world.

The broken surveillance system I helped fix after the border glitch, or the mental health sessions I arranged for the she-wolves after the last rogue attack.

To him, I was the Luna who forgot his favorite dessert.

I forced the words out, holding the plate tighter. “It’s the same cake you’ve always liked. I used the Belgian cocoa you love and the recipe your mom taught me”

Edwin scoffed. “That doesn’t change the fact that it tastes like disappointment.”

I swallowed hard, the taste of shame coating my tongue.

I used to think life was about love. But I was just a convenient piece of trash used and discarded when no longer needed.

My sister stopped talking to me for no reason. My mate always belittled me and my mother reminded me I was a mistake, never like her perfect daughter, Laura.

I sacrificed myself without thinking about the cost.

Now I’m just a lonely woman with an emotionally absent husband, waiting for my light to die out.

The door swung open. High heels clicked sharply, and Laura’s scent filled the room.

She walked in with a smile and called out,

“Who wants dessert? Red velvet cake, anyone?”

Laura, of course. Confident, successful, her face was on billboards across the city. She wore ambition like perfume and carried herself like someone who always knew the world would bow for her.

She was the daughter our mother loved, the one she was proud to show off.

She walked in holding her son, all smiles.

“I just brought him to greet his father,” she said. “He’s been moody all week, even after the vacation his dad took him on.”

Her husband rushed to hug their son. My mother lit up instantly, showering Laura with praises.

“I heard about the new deal with the prestigious wolf company in Texas, my brilliant girl!”

Edwin, lounging at the table, lifted his head. “Any chance I could get a slice of that red velvet cake?”

Laura served him a piece, and he devoured it like it was heaven-sent.

“Now this is cake,” he said with a full mouth. “Not like that poison some people make.”

My eyes dropped to the burn on my hand—still raw from flipping my cake pan too quickly.

Then Edwin said, “Let’s go out. A Chinese restaurant just opened. My treat.”

Mother beamed. “Oh! There’s a dish on that menu I’ve been dying to try.”

Rowan, Laura’s son, turned to me. “Aunt Selene, aren’t you coming too?”

Before I could speak, Edwin laughed.

“She? Come on. Selene dropped out of college. She won’t get what we’ll be discussing, real business talk.”

Rowan paused at the door, eyes flicking toward me. “I’ll pack you something,” he muttered, barely meeting my gaze.

Then he followed them laughing, excitedly like I was never even there.

They didn’t say goodbye.

I stood there, tears slipping down before I could stop them.

The house reeked of burnt food and artificial red velvet flavouring. I sat down and reached for the same cake Edwin rejected.

I took one bite and spat it out.

It was dry, dense and tasteless.

I forgot the eggs. And the milk. God. I hadn’t even realized.

I wasn’t even present. I was here, but not really. Somewhere between surviving and disappearing.

Then I tasted the cake Laura brought.

It was soft, sweet and familiar.

Just like Edwin’s mother’s recipe.

And it hit me.

He gave it to her. The one recipe he used to call special, that I spent years learning just to be perfect for him.

I looked around the living room, eyes scanning the walls. Not one picture of me.

Edwin said I didn’t “fit the aesthetic.” Said I was too fat, and said I’d ruin the look of the house.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced the cake down.

Then I cleaned the table. Washed every single plate. Wiped the counter. Sprayed his favorite air freshener lavender and cedarwood because that’s how he liked the house to smell when he came home.

Then I went upstairs.

The bedroom felt colder than usual.

I hadn’t truly shared this space with him in over six years. And the last time he touched me he moaned Laura’s name in his sleep.

I undressed slowly, slid into the bathtub. The water stung my skin, hot and too quiet. I whispered to the ceiling,

“I did this to myself.”

Maybe if I hadn’t loved so hard. Maybe if I didn’t keep giving pieces of myself to people who never gave back… maybe I’d still recognize the woman in the mirror.

If I didn’t keep handing out pieces of my soul to those who treated it like scraps.

Maybe… just maybe, I wouldn’t feel so hollow now.

And as their laughter echoed from the driveway, I reached for the razor.

Watching the blood color the water, soft and slow, like the night I held my baby and watched the light fade from his tiny eyes, something in me died that night.

And I cried. For him. For me.

For everything I used to be before I stopped mattering.