He brought me tea and held me when I cried, but I noticed how his shoulders had relaxed, and how he hummed while preparing meals he knew I would enjoy.
“We can try again,” he said, but the words sounded hollow.
Looking back, he must have been silently praying that my pregnancy would end.
How many nights had he lain beside me, pretending to share my dreams while plotting to keep them from coming true? How many times had he kissed my tears away, secretly relieved at my suffering?
In a strange way, I am grateful now. If our child had survived, they would have been born into a home in which their father’s love was divided. I can’t imagine how painful it would have been for an innocent puppy.
Perhaps losing the pregnancy saved my child from a life of wondering why their father always seemed to look past them, why another puppy was given preferential treatment.
Sometimes, as I look out my shop window at the ocean, I imagine the child we might have had, playing in the sand, collecting shells and shrieking with delight as waves chase tiny footprints.
But that dream died with my womb, cut away by a healer on Dylan’s orders.
The Hunter Pack territory is stunning. I decided to move here permanently, obtaining residency papers and purchasing a small chalet in a quiet neighbourhood near the forest edge.
Though small in size, it’s cosy and welcoming–ideal for a solitary life without feeling lonely. The wooden beams and stone fireplace remind me of my own strength and stability, which I have been working to rebuild.
My days became simple but fulfilling. To bring some life into my home, I adopted two puppies for companionship.
The first puppy, a grey wolf-mix with one blue and one brown eye, is strangely fascinated by the moon. I named him Noctara because of the way he appears to revere the celestial body.
The second puppy, a smaller black one with white paws, constantly buries my crystals in the garden, as if planting them for future growth. I call him Groveborn because of his peculiar gardening habits.
“You’re not growing crystal trees, silly boy,” I told him this morning, after digging up my rose quartz for the third time this week. He simply wagged his tail, proud of his accomplishments.
Their presence changed my once-quiet life into something more lively. Their playful wrestling matches and midnight howling competitions frequently caused minor chaos in the house, but their companionship filled a void I had no idea existed.
What I never expected was Dylan to find me here, in this sanctuary I’d built.
Today, I enrolled in a local flight school. I’ve always loved the sky–the freedom, the vastness–so I signed up to learn how to fly a helicopter. The instructor promised stunning views of the Swiss Alps from above.
Dylan appeared out of nowhere, blocking my path as I stepped outside my door with my equipment bag slung over my shoulder. “Amelia, it really is you!” His voice broke with emotion as he said my name.
