My life

The truth

MICAS POV

After she finished the strawberries, she sat very still for a moment, like she was listening to something inside herself. Then she told me she was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes easily, but the heavy kind the kind that settles in your bones and makes even standing feel like too much. She said she wanted to lie down again, but she didn't want to go upstairs.

That alone told me more than words ever could.

I didn't ask why. I didn't question it. I simply nodded and showed her the living room, keeping my pace slow so she wouldn't feel rushed. I handed her the TV remote and pointed out the blankets, the pillows, the way the couch reclined if she wanted it to. I made sure she knew where everything was, but I tried not to hover.

When I asked if she'd be okay alone while I went to talk to the nurse, I watched her carefully. She nodded, a small, careful motion, then curled up on the couch like she'd done it a thousand times before. Like that was her default place somewhere temporary, somewhere she wouldn't take up too much space.

That tightened something in my chest.

I left quietly and made my way back to the hospital, my thoughts growing heavier with every step. I asked to speak to the nurse who had been with her the one she trusted enough to talk to when she couldn't talk to me. I explained what Genevieve had said that morning, how she'd told me to talk to the nurse instead.

The conversation that followed lit something dark and violent inside me.

I kept my face neutral. I kept my voice steady. But by the time she finished telling me what Genevieve had shared what she'd endured, what she believed about herself, what she expected from the world I was shaking with fury.

Not the explosive kind. The controlled, dangerous kind.

I thanked the nurse and left before I said something I couldn't take back. I knew if I went straight home like this, Genevieve would feel it. Wolves always carried their emotions close to the surface, and mine were boiling. I couldn't let that spill over onto her. She didn't need to see rage. She needed calm. Safety.

So I went for a run.

Jack, my wolf, surged forward the second I let him. He'd been restless since the moment we met our mate, pacing inside me, hyper-aware, protective to the point of violence. When the truth finally settled into him when he fully understood what she'd lived through his anger matched mine.

We ran hard. Fast. Through trees and along the cliffs near the water, paws pounding the earth until my lungs burned and my thoughts finally started to clear. The ocean wind cut through us, sharp and grounding. We ran until the anger had somewhere to go that wasn't her.

Only then did I turn back for home.

---

GENEVIEVE POV

The moment he left, the house felt bigger.

Quieter.

I curled into the corner of the couch, pulling the blanket up around my shoulders, my thoughts racing despite how tired I felt. I couldn't stop wondering what he would hear from the nurse. What she might have told him. What that knowledge would change.

What if he didn't want me anymore?

The thought dug in deep and painful. I'd been told my whole life directly and indirectly that I was damaged. Used. Less than. What if knowing everything made him see me the same way everyone else did?

My chest tightened as another thought surfaced. My birthday was coming up. Three days away. Eighteen. Legally an adult. The idea felt strange and hollow. I'd grown up years ago in every way that mattered, but the number still carried weight. My family never celebrated birthdays. They were just another day. Another reminder that time passed whether you were ready or not.

What was the point of telling him anyway?

He was already doing so much. Letting me stay. Feeding me. Giving me space. I didn't want to be another burden.

I flipped through the TV channels, landing on a scary show almost by accident. Normally I avoided anything loud or sudden, but today it held my attention just enough to keep my thoughts from spiraling too badly. Still, I couldn't tell you what it was about. My mind kept drifting.

About an hour later, my stomach surprised me by growling.

Hunger. Real hunger.

That almost never happened. Usually, once I ate, my body shut down any further signals for the rest of the day. Nervous but determined, I slid off the couch and headed into the kitchen. Everything was put away neatly. The food from earlier was stored carefully, like it mattered.

I found the leftovers in the fridge and pulled out a pancake, a piece of sausage, and some fruit. I hesitated at the microwave, my fingers hovering over the buttons, then decided against it. I didn't want to break anything. I didn't want to do something wrong.

So I ate it cold.

And honestly? It was still good.

After that, exhaustion finally caught up to me. The kind that seeps in slowly and then hits all at once. I rinsed my plate and set it in the sink, feeling oddly proud of that small act, then returned to the couch.

Sleep took me quickly this time.

I drifted into a deep dream, wrapped in quiet, unaware of how much was already changing around me.