Dancing with Shadows ✔

In the Eyes of Others

Dancing with Shadows

Chapter 21

Emma's morning began like any other—routine, predictable, and lonely. She woke up, took a quick shower, and descended the stairs to join her family for breakfast. Her room, mercifully, was on the second floor, sparing her the exhaustion of climbing an additional flight of stairs while pregnant.

As she entered the dining room, she noticed that more family members had arrived since the previous day. Her Aunt Nadia, her husband, Sam, and Uncle Bain were all seated around the large table, their gazes fixed on her as she shuffled in.

"Good morning," Emma mumbled, placing her hands protectively under her bump as she took her seat. Without waiting for a response, she picked up her fork and began eating, determined to ignore the stares that followed her every move.

Her grandfather's voice cut through the silence, breaking the uneasy peace. "Emma, your father called. He told us about your condition."

Emma froze, her fork clattering onto the plate. "What condition?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she met her grandfather's stern gaze.

"He said you've been eating raw meat," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact as he returned to his breakfast. "And that you assume the baby's father is a werewolf."

"I don't assume! I know!" Emma shot back, her voice rising in defiance. Her fists clenched as she slammed one onto the table, rattling the dishes.

"DON'T SLAM YOUR HANDS IN THIS HOUSE!" her grandfather roared, making Emma flinch. The force of his anger hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive.

Emma's lower lip trembled, but she bit down hard to stop herself from crying. Her grandfather sighed, clearly frustrated. "We've agreed to get you a therapist."

The word hit Emma like a physical blow. "A therapist?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can't do that! Nothing is wrong with me!"

"You're eating raw meat, Emma," her grandfather retorted, his tone brooking no argument. "Something is very wrong there. And that reminds me—I'll have to lock up the meat."

Emma's heart sank as she realized that her peculiar cravings would no longer be satisfied. She placed a protective hand over her belly, silently willing her baby to be strong without the sustenance it seemed to need.

"You'll be starting in an hour," her grandfather added, dismissing the conversation as if it were a done deal.

Emma nodded numbly, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. She felt trapped, misunderstood, and utterly alone in a house full of people who refused to believe her.

As she sat there, the walls of the grand dining room seemed to close in around her, the weight of her family's expectations pressing down on her from all sides. They saw her as a problem to be fixed, a disturbance in their perfect world, but Emma knew that what was happening to her was real. The baby growing inside her was different, and special, and no amount of therapy or locked doors could change that.

But for now, she was powerless to do anything but comply.

**

Within an hour, Emma found herself standing outside one of her grandfather's offices, where her therapist waited for her. She took a few deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves before entering.

"Good morning, Miss Hunt," the therapist greeted her. He was a man in his mid-forties, with brown hair streaked with grey at the sides and dark brown eyes. He sat at a desk, his posture straight, and gestured for her to take a seat.