Chapter 6 Paving the European Path

Lila POV

The immigration office smelled of disinfectant and desperation, fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across rows of plastic chairs filled with hopeful applicants. I clutched my folder of documents, every paper meticulously organized for my European work visa application.

"Next!"

The clerk, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, barely glanced up as I approached the window. "Purpose of travel?"

"Cultural exchange program. I'll be working with the Paris Opera House on a werewolf mythology musical project." I slid my acceptance letter across the counter, the official letterhead gleaming under the harsh lights.

The woman scanned the document with practiced efficiency. "Duration of stay?"

"Initially six months, with potential for extension." What I didn't mention was that I had no intention of returning. Ever.

"Medical clearance required for extended cultural work." The clerk stamped a form and slid it back. "Schedule appointment with approved physician within two weeks. Next!"

I stepped away from the counter, my heart pounding. Medical clearance meant dealing with werewolf-approved doctors—the pack's medical network that reported everything back to the community leadership. I'd hoped to avoid that particular complication.

Outside the government building, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Dr. Sarah Kim, the pack's preferred physician for "sensitive" cases involving humans married to werewolves.

"Lila, how lovely to hear from you," Dr. Kim's warm voice came through the phone. "It's been what, two years since your last check-up?"

"Too long," I agreed. "I need medical clearance for a work visa. Are you available this week?"

"Of course. Though I'll need to pull your old files for the comprehensive report. Some of those records from the incident at the Blackwood ceremony might be relevant."

My breath caught. The Blackwood ceremony. The night I'd thrown myself between Marcus and an assassin's blade—the night that had earned me acceptance into the pack and changed my life forever.

The Moonrise Medical Center occupied a discrete building in Southern Bay's financial district, its understated exterior hiding state-of-the-art facilities designed specifically for the werewolf community's unique needs. I had been here only twice since the attack—once for my initial recovery, and once for the devastating follow-up appointment that Marcus had mysteriously missed.

"You look wonderful," Dr. Kim said, gesturing to the examination chair. "Marriage to Marcus agrees with you. Though I have to say, I'm surprised about the European opportunity. Most pack wives prefer to stay close to home."

"Music has always been my passion," I replied carefully. "Marcus is very supportive of my career."

As Dr. Kim conducted the routine examination, my mind wandered to that night three years ago. The Blackwood pack's ceremonial alliance dinner. Marcus standing with his back to the crowd, completely unaware of the rival pack member approaching with a bone knife coated in wolfsbane extract. The split-second decision that had changed everything.

"I need to review your historical records," Dr. Kim said, moving to her computer. "Ah, here we are. The heroic Mrs. Gray."

I watched the doctor's expression grow serious as she scrolled through the digital records.

"The wolfsbane poisoning from the Blackwood incident," Dr. Kim said carefully. "I'd forgotten how severe the exposure was. You saved Marcus's life, you know. If that blade had reached him..."

Three years ago. The night I'd been celebrated as a hero for taking a knife meant for the pack heir. The night the entire werewolf community had praised my courage and devotion. The night that had earned me Marcus's family's grudging respect and secured my position as his wife.

The night that had cost me everything I didn't know I wanted.

"The toxicology reports were quite concerning," Dr. Kim continued, her voice clinical. "Concentrated wolfsbane extract, designed specifically to cause maximum damage to werewolf physiology. But humans process it differently."

I remembered the weeks of agony that followed, my body fighting poison meant to kill creatures with supernatural healing abilities. I remembered Marcus sitting by my hospital bed, holding my hand, promising he'd never let anything hurt me again.

Such beautiful lies.

"The long-term effects," Dr. Kim said, pulling up another screen filled with test results. "I'm surprised we didn't discuss them more thoroughly once you'd recovered."

"What long-term effects?" Though somewhere deep down, I already knew.

Dr. Kim's expression grew uncomfortable. "The wolfsbane caused significant damage to your reproductive system. The poisoning affected your ovarian function and caused scarring that would make natural conception extremely difficult."

The room seemed to tilt around me. "Are you saying I can't have children?"

"The likelihood of natural conception is very low, possibly impossible without extensive medical intervention." Dr. Kim's voice gentled. "I documented everything at the time. Both you and Marcus received copies of the reports six months after the incident."

Six months after the incident. Right around the time Marcus had started suggesting we "wait a few more years" before trying for children. Right around the time he'd begun pulling away from conversations about our future family.

He'd known. For three years, Marcus had known that my heroic act—saving his life—had cost me the ability to give him what he most wanted. An heir. A legacy. A future.

What Vera was carrying now.

"I'd like copies of those medical records," I said, my voice steady despite the earthquake in my chest. "All of them."

Dr. Kim hesitated. "Pack medical records are typically kept confidential—"

"I'm requesting my own medical information for a visa application. That's well within my rights."

Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the medical center with a thick envelope containing three years of documentation. Evidence of my sacrifice. Evidence of wolfsbane poisoning. Evidence that Marcus had known exactly what my courage had cost us while he was building a future with someone else.

That evening, I sat in my car outside our house, staring at the medical reports under the dome light. The technical language was brutal in its clarity: "severe systemic poisoning," "reproductive system compromise," "permanent fertility impairment secondary to wolfsbane exposure."

The irony was suffocating. I'd sacrificed my ability to give Marcus children by saving his life. And he'd responded by finding a woman who could give him what I no longer could.

My phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: Running late. Don't wait up.

Another evening with Vera, probably celebrating their growing baby while his damaged wife sat alone with the medical proof of what my love had cost.

I carefully photographed each page of the medical records, uploading them to my encrypted cloud storage alongside the divorce papers and evidence of his affair. Then I sealed the originals in an envelope marked with a single word: "Hero."

These records would be going into Marcus's safe, right next to the divorce papers he'd unknowingly signed. Let him find them together—the legal end of our marriage alongside the medical reminder of how much I'd given up for him.

I started the car and drove home, my mind already calculating the final steps of my escape plan. The visa application would be approved within days. My flight to Paris was booked for next month.

All that remained was ensuring Marcus understood exactly what he was losing—and what he'd already thrown away.

The medical records felt like fire in my purse as I walked into our empty house, each page a testament to sacrifice unrewarded and devotion betrayed. But they were also something else: proof that I'd survived worse than heartbreak.

I'd survived poison meant to kill supernatural beings. I'd survive this too.

And Marcus Gray would finally understand the true cost of loving someone who only valued what you could give him, never what you'd already sacrificed.

The scar on my shoulder, hidden beneath designer clothing, began to ache as it always did when I was stressed. A permanent reminder of the night I'd proven my love.

Soon, it would be Marcus's turn to live with permanent reminders.