Chapter 68
Olivia's POV
The soft beep of the machines filled the room, a rhythmic reminder of how fragile this moment was. I sat at my mother’s bedside, her once vibrant features pale and sunken, but her eyes still held that spark of determination that had always defined her.
I reached for her hand, surprised by how frail it felt in mine.
“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” she whispered, her voice a reedy thread that still carried a trace of her strength.
I managed to offer her a small smile, though my heart ached. “I had to be here, Mom. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She gave a faint laugh that ended in a cough, and I reached for the glass of water on the side table, holding it to her lips. Her fingers lightly brushed mine as she drank, and the touch grounded me in the reality of what was coming.
I wasn’t ready to lose her.
“You’ve always been so stubborn,” she said, her voice clearer now. “It’s your greatest strength and your biggest challenge. Not your empathy.”
My eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall. “I wonder where I got that from.”
Her gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like we were somewhere else, a simpler time when her presence alone could fix anything.
“You’ve done so much, Olivia. Been through more than I ever wanted for you. But you’ve led with grace, even when you doubted yourself.”
My throat tightened, and I had to swallow hard to speak. “I don’t feel graceful, Mom. I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”
She squeezed my hand weakly. “That’s the thing about Lunas. Even when we’re breaking, we still find a way to carry the weight. But you need to trust in your Alpha, let him share the burden.”
Her words struck a chord deep within me, and my thoughts drifted to Ethan, to the complicated mess of feelings I carried for him. “What if trusting means risking everything? What if I get it wrong?”
“You will, sometimes,” she said like it was obvious. “But you’ll learn. Love makes mistakes but you grow through them. You’ve got the head to lead and the strength to love, too. Don’t let fear hold you back from either.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I didn’t bother wiping it away. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this,” I admitted, my voice trembling.
“Bah, I wasn’t ready either. I turned your father down a dozen times before giving in. You’re more ready than you think,” she said with a gentle smile. “I’ve seen it in you since the day you were born. It’s not a weakness to feel so deeply.”
Her breathing grew shallower, and I leaned closer, desperate to hold onto every word, every moment. “Mom, I –”
“You’ll be okay, my girl” she interrupted, her voice barely a whisper now. “You make me proud. Always.”
The machines began to beep faster, the sound piercing through the air. Nurses rushed in, and I was gently pulled back, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Her gaze stayed on me until it faded, her lips still curved in that soft, knowing smile.
And then she was gone.
The room felt too quiet, too still, like the world had paused to acknowledge the passing of someone who had shaped it in countless ways.
I collapsed on the floor where I stood.
She was right. I had the strength to lead, the strength to love. But right now, all I felt was the crushing pressure of grief. My heart broke at the loss of my mother.
I would honor her legacy, not just by leading my Pack but by finding my own path forward. By figuring out what Ethan truly meant to me and what I meant to him. Without the political pressures we had thrust on us.
Because if she believed in me, then I had to find a way to believe in myself, too.
My claws lengthened into the cold linoleum floor, and I let the sound of grief rip from deep in my throat, shattering the silence.
The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, its muted walls closing in on me as I stepped out of my mother’s room.
I leaned back against the cool surface of the wall, my breath hitching as I tried to keep the tears at bay. The reality of her loss overwhelmed me, making it hard to breathe.
Hushed voices of nurses and the distant hum of machines felt like a stark reminder that time was slipping through my fingers.
Pushing off the wall, I wandered aimlessly, the sterile hospital scent following me as I turned down a quiet corridor. My feet carried me outside, to a small garden I had passed earlier.
The air was crisp, carrying the comfort of earth and fading flowers. A single bench sat beneath a gnarled oak tree, its bare branches stretching toward the sky.
I sank onto it, the cold wood grounding me as I finally let the tears fall.
Memories of my mother flooded in – her laughter, the warmth of her embrace, the way she could make me believe I was capable of anything. And now, knowing I would never hear her voice again, never feel the comfort or sting of her words, it was too much.
“Olivia.”
The sound of Ethan’s voice startled me, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I wiped my cheeks quickly, turning to see him standing a few feet away.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a softness that made my chest tighten further. He didn’t ask if he could join me, just walked over and sat down beside me.
The bench shifted slightly under his weight, but he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he simply sat there, his presence steady and grounding, like a lifeline tethering me to the moment.
“I needed some air,” I said finally, my voice hoarse.
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the bare branches above us. “Losing a parent is… a lot,” he said quietly. “But you’re not alone.”
I looked down at my hands, twisting them in my lap. “She’s always been the strongest person I know. And now… I don’t know how to do this without her.”
Ethan turned to me, his eyes intent. “It’s okay to not know.”
His words broke something open inside me, and the tears I had been holding back came in a rush. I covered my face with my hands, the sobs shaking my shoulders. Ethan didn’t speak, didn’t try to placate me. He just stayed there, a solid presence beside me.
When the storm of grief lessened, I felt his hand on mine, warm and grounding. “Olivia,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Your mother saw the strength in you, even when you can’t see it yourself. I’ll be here to remind you of it if you need.”
I turned to him, the sincerity in his gaze undoing me all over again. “I don’t know if I can do this, Ethan,” I whispered.
“You can,” he said simply. “And you will. You’ve stepped up to Luna, Mated a stranger, protected your Pack, held your ground while kidnapped, stood up to the Alpha Council, run a business beautifully… and you’re still fighting.”
The rawness in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely showed, wrapped around me like a soothing balm. For a moment, the hurt in my chest eased, and I leaned into his shoulder, finding comfort in his quiet strength.
We sat there in silence, the world continuing on around us.
For the first time in hours, maybe for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again.
