Chapter 34 - A Mother’s Judgment
1141 Words
Ingrid stepped out of the car and slowly removed her sunglasses.
The afternoon sun was bright, reflecting sharply off the dusty road that ran through the small cluster of houses. The air smelled faintly of dry grass and wood smoke.
In front of her stood the house of Florence Drake’s parents.
It was smaller than Ingrid expected.
Not ruined. Not poor. But humble. The kind of home built by wolves who lived quietly inside the protection of the pack and never expected to stand out.
Ingrid studied it carefully.
Today Florence was leaving this house forever.
Leaving it to join Anthony’s territory.
To join her son’s pack.
And Ingrid had come personally to see something.
To understand something.
Anthony rarely made reckless decisions.
But buying a wolf from another pack—especially one so fragile—was a dangerous move politically.
It risked reputation.
Authority.
Respect.
And Ingrid needed to understand why her son had taken that risk.
The front door opened.
Florence stepped outside.
She carried a single suitcase.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Ingrid raised an eyebrow.
No parents followed her.
No farewell.
No embrace.
Not even a final conversation.
Just silence.
That alone told Ingrid more about the family than any explanation could.
Florence paused on the small porch.
For a moment she stood still.
Then she reached out and gently ran her hand along the wooden wall of the house.
A quiet goodbye.
The gesture was so simple.
And yet…
It made something inside Ingrid tighten unexpectedly.
The girl loved this place.
Even after everything.
Ingrid stepped forward.
“Miss Drake?”
Florence turned quickly.
The sunlight caught her hair.
Ingrid had seen red-haired wolves before, but Florence’s hair glowed in a way that was almost unnatural—like polished copper beneath the sun.
Florence’s eyes widened when she saw the elegant woman standing in the yard.
“I…” she began uncertainly.
Ingrid smiled slightly.
“I am Anthony’s mother.”
Florence’s reaction was immediate.
Her eyes widened further.
Then she quickly dropped to one knee.
The movement was awkward—her injuries still obvious.
“My Lady—”
Ingrid laughed softly and stepped forward.
“Oh no,” she said gently.
She placed a hand under Florence’s arm and lifted her back to her feet.
“There’s no need for that, dear.”
Florence looked embarrassed.
“I apologize.”
Ingrid waved it away.
“Please don’t.”
She glanced down at the suitcase near Florence’s feet.
“Where are your other bags?”
Florence blinked.
“My… other bags?”
“Yes,” Ingrid said calmly.
She gestured toward the car behind her.
“My driver will place them inside.”
Florence gave a small, awkward smile.
“That’s all I brought.”
Ingrid looked down at the suitcase.
Then she looked back at Florence.
One suitcase.
That was everything the girl owned.
Ingrid felt irritation stir inside her chest.
Not at Florence.
At the people inside the house.
Before she could speak again, the front door opened.
Two women stepped outside.
Ingrid recognized them immediately.
Ennis.
And Veronica.
Florence’s mother and sister.
Veronica crossed her arms.
“When are you finally leaving our yard?” she shouted sharply.
Florence flinched.
Ingrid slowly stepped around her so that she could see the two women clearly.
“Is this how you say goodbye to family?” Ingrid asked calmly.
Ennis froze.
Her eyes widened in shock.
“L-Luna of the White Hunters,” she stammered.
“We didn’t realize you were here.”
Ingrid raised one hand.
The gesture stopped Ennis from speaking further.
“I came to complete the purchase.”
Her voice was cold now.
Precise.
Behind her, the driver opened the trunk of the car.
He stepped forward carrying three heavy sacks.
Gold.
The payment Anthony had agreed upon.
The driver placed them directly into Ennis and Veronica’s hands.
The weight of the sacks made both women stagger slightly.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Ingrid turned back toward Florence.
The girl still stood quietly beside her suitcase.
Ingrid picked up the case.
It was light.
Too light.
She looked Florence directly in the eyes.
“Is there anything important inside?”
Florence hesitated.
Then she nodded.
“Yes.”
Ingrid’s voice softened slightly.
“Take out the important things.”
Florence slowly opened the suitcase.
Inside there were only a few folded clothes.
And several books.
She carefully removed four of them.
She held them against her chest protectively.
Ingrid watched closely.
Books.
Not jewelry.
Not letters.
Not keepsakes.
Books.
The suitcase was otherwise almost empty.
Ingrid closed it again.
Then she turned sharply toward Ennis and Veronica.
Without warning—
She threw the suitcase directly at them.
The case hit Ennis in the chest before falling heavily onto the ground.
Both women gasped.
Ingrid’s voice turned icy.
“You sold her.”
Silence fell over the yard.
“You should at least have the decency to carry the rest of her belongings yourselves.”
Ennis looked stunned.
Veronica looked furious.
But neither dared to speak.
Ingrid turned back toward Florence.
“Come.”
Florence obeyed silently.
She walked beside Ingrid toward the car.
Her books were still pressed tightly against her chest.
The driver opened the door for them.
Florence climbed into the back seat carefully.
Ingrid followed.
The door closed.
Ingrid looked at the driver.
“Take us home.”
The car began moving down the road.
Florence remained silent beside her.
She held the books as if they were the most valuable objects in the world.
Ingrid watched her quietly.
After several minutes she finally spoke.
“You chose books.”
Florence looked at her nervously.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Florence looked down at the worn covers.
“They’re the only things that were truly mine.”
Ingrid studied her carefully.
The girl did not sound dramatic.
Or bitter.
Just honest.
Outside the window the landscape slowly changed as they left Florence’s former territory behind.
Ingrid leaned back in the seat.
She watched Florence from the corner of her eye.
The girl looked exhausted.
Fragile.
But there was something else beneath that weakness.
Something stubborn.
Something enduring.
Ingrid suddenly understood something.
Anthony had not saved Florence because she was strong.
He had saved her because she was not.
Because she had been abandoned by everyone.
Because she had nothing.
And yet…
She still carried books with her.
Knowledge.
Curiosity.
Hope.
Ingrid smiled faintly.
Now she understood.
Her son had not rescued a weak wolf.
He had rescued a soul that had refused to become cruel.
And that…
Was far rarer than strength.
Much rarer.
Ingrid looked out the window again.
Yes.
Now she understood Anthony perfectly.
And for the first time…
She believed he might have made the right decision.
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