When I was six, I asked my Mom for a new bike. I believed with all my heart that this bike could change my little world. It was silver, with sky-blue streaks and bright streamers fluttering from the handles. I dreamed of the large wicker basket in front, perfect for my grand adventures. I begged and bargained, even cried until I was hoarse.
Mom had just gotten me a bike three months earlier for my birthday and didn’t understand why I needed a new one. To her, it seemed silly, but to me, it was everything. Another month passed, my pleading grew desperate. My Dad, always understanding, began to soften. He asked Mom if we could get the bike, recognizing how important it was to me. He always knew, even if my reasons were childish. But Mom held firm, though she offered a compromise: chores for a month.
I needed the bike now. I had no friends, and that bike was my way to belong. I hadn’t met Andrea yet, and I spent most of my time with my parents or alone. I was convinced that if I had that bike, the kids would notice me, and I’d finally have someone to talk to. My small, lonely world rested on those two wheels.
I yelled and cried, not understanding why she didn’t get it. My world felt like it was crashing down. That was the only time I ever told her I hated her.
Mom left the house shortly after, and I didn’t think anything of it. But when Dad got a call later, his face twisted in a way I’d never forget. Mom had been in a car accident just outside of town. She was taken to the pack hospital, her healing rapid, but still, as a child, all I knew was fear. I had said those awful words to her, without thinking, and I nearly lost her. The new bike sat unused in the trunk, the price tag still attached.
That accident happened two years before Dad died, just a few months after my head injury. Many memories faded, but not this one. It was the first time I truly felt helpless. I couldn’t protect her when that car ran the red light, couldn’t stop it.
Now, that same feeling of helplessness gripped me.
***
“Life belongs to the living,
And rest is for the gone.
Let life’s song keep playing,
And silence carry on.”
Her eyes, once so full of warmth and love, stared back at me from the ground. Even in death, it felt like she was still watching me, always thinking of me. Those eyes, the ones that had seen every birthday, every tear, were empty now. My Mom’s body lay still, her life’s blood darkening her silver fur.
The idea of a life without her warmth, her voice-it stole the air from my lungs faster than any enemy ever could. Strength wasn’t something you were born with. I understood that now.
The battle raged on, but my world was crumbling beneath my feet. Werewolves fought for their pack, rogues continued their assault, but I was frozen, staring at my mother’s lifeless wolf. The chaos around me blurred into the background, only fading when rough hands gripped my shoulders. It wasn’t until her body was dragged away that I snapped out of my trance.
Like a dam breaking, my emotions flooded through me. I threw myself at her, holding onto her blood-streaked fur. Her throat was torn open, but I didn’t care. I just needed her close. She had saved me, but who had saved her? If only I had been stronger. That was a mistake I would never make again.
“Ella, stop.” A familiar voice broke through my haze. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me back, but my eyes were fixed on the spot where her body had been, where her blood had stained the grass.
Had we won? It didn’t matter.
Strong arms held me fast, a solid chest pressing against my back. My frantic movements did nothing to loosen the stranger’s grip, yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop struggling.
“Leonardo-” The name escaped my lips as I searched those grey eyes, so light they mirrored the calm of a stormy sky.
But guilt flashed across his gaze, followed swiftly by pain. It wasn’t Leonardo. It wasn’t him at all. His hair was darker, a deep onyx compared to Leonardo’s shade. And now, looking closer, his eyes were just a bit too dark.
“Carlo-” I rasped, my voice raw, as if I had been shouting. I hadn’t realized it until now, but my throat felt scorched. “Carlo-my Mom.”
“Shh, I know, Ella,” Carlo whispered, his rough hands gently cupping my face. He pulled my head against his, forcing my gaze away from the spot where my mother’s body had lain.
His attention shifted to the person holding me, whose arms remained firmly around my waist.
“Get her home, Enrico,” Carlo instructed softly, his seafoam eyes sweeping over my face one last time. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t leave her alone.”
“I won’t, Alpha.” Enrico’s voice came from behind me, thick with an emotion I didn’t expect. In the back of my mind, I wondered why he sounded so different.
Enrico’s voice reached me, soft but filled with sorrow. He was always the one making everyone laugh, but not today. Today, his voice was heavy with grief. He lifted me into the car, his warmth barely cutting through the numb cold spreading through me. My mind raced, but my heart felt like an empty shell.
As we arrived at home, I stared blankly at the familiar house. I hated it. Every memory within its walls mocked me, reminding me of what I had lost. The worn wooden boards, the faded paint, the chipped tiles-all of it. Every corner of this house held a piece of my mother, and I wanted none of it.
“You don’t have to stay here.” Carlo’s voice was gentle, like he was afraid I might shatter. “We can grab your things…”
“I don’t want them,” I whispered, my voice barely my own. My hands trembled as I picked up her coffee cup, still half-full from that morning. I had made it for her years ago, painting a clumsy sun and flowers on it with my tiny fingers. I used to feel proud when I looked at it. Now, all I felt was anger.
“I don’t want any of it,” I said, my voice sharper now.
The cup flew from my hands, shattering against the wall. The memories, the things-they meant nothing without her. One by one, I tore through the house. Paintings, books, anything that had been part of our life together, I destroyed.
But none of it brought her back.
Finally, I collapsed, sobbing into the arms of the friend who held me. My voice cracked with the only truth that mattered.
“I just want my Mom.”