THE LUNA HE THREW AWAY

The correction.

The correction. The phrase unsettled something deep inside me, as if he had left behind a riddle instead of comfort. Did he mean I was supposed to fix something he had broken? Or was I the answer to some old wound in our family, the thing that set things right? Part of me wanted it to mean I was special, chosen for something important. Another part feared it meant I only existed to repair someone else's damage. I didn’t know whether to feel proud, burdened, or simply lost. The uncertainty pressed at my chest, leaving me searching for any meaning and turning over my father’s words again and again, hoping to find a piece of myself in them. Still, something about the way my mother looked at me, with equal parts fear and hope, hinted that the correction was not just about my family. There was a weight in her silence, a glimmer of expectation, as if this phrase might echo beyond our blood and into the wider troubles of the Hollow. Maybe my father had seen something coming, something that needed to be set right, and I was meant to be the beginning of it.

I stared at the letter, the words swirling inside me like smoke. The correction. Did he mean something had gone wrong? Was I fixing a wound, mending a break in him, in us, in the world? The phrase felt too big, and I didn’t know if I was chosen or changed. I waited for clarity, but only confusion and a fragile hope grew.

That was it. No instructions. No answers. Just that one sharp truth. For a long moment, I sat there, the letter shaking in my hands. The words echoed inside my chest, leaving an ache I couldn't name. I looked at my mother. She was crying, but not in a way that asked for comfort. She let it happen, let it show. For the first time, I realized how much she had given up to keep me safe, and how wrong she had been about what safety really meant.

“I tried to make you small enough that the world wouldn’t notice,” she said. “I thought that was love. But love isn’t hiding. Love is letting someone be as big as they need to be.”

I didn’t know what to say. I sat there, holding the letter, feeling the weight of loss and what I’d been given. Cass woke, blinking away sleep, and looked at me, her gaze moving from my hands to my face. Her lips parted like she might ask to read the letter, but she only pressed her thumb into her palm, worry flickering across her face. I wondered what she wished she could confess, what she still kept hidden. She shifted closer and, after a pause, rested her hand on my shoulder. "Whatever it is," she whispered, "we’re with you. You don’t need to carry it alone." The tremor in her voice made me think about secrets heavier than mine.

Kael moved closer but kept his distance, shoulders tight, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the letter before looking away. His jaw worked, like he was fighting with words he couldn’t say. For a moment, he looked almost afraid, not just for me, but for what old truths might demand from him. He murmured, "If you need to talk or just want company, I’m here." Behind his steady offer, I saw a shadow in his gaze, as if my revelation stirred up something unfinished in him too.

Fen returned, silent, blood under his nails and eyes heavy, but he met my stare and gave a short, almost protective nod. He crouched nearby, the pads of his fingers moving over his healed scars, his face unreadable but restless. I sensed questions pressing at his silence, secrets that pulsed like bruises under the skin, but he didn’t speak them.

I felt their uncertainty and worry, but also a fragile comfort, as if my secret, even though it changed everything, also tied us together.

My mother stood, wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, and gave me a steady look. She walked into the trees, leaving me with the letter, the Hollow, and the truth. For a moment, I felt bigger than the world and more alone than ever.

The Hollow was silent. The pool, black and still, reflected only the moon. I stared into its surface, hoping it would show me a shape, some proof that I existed, but I saw only white light and emptiness rippling back. My chest ached for a sign, something that might cut through the darkness and let me see who I was becoming. Just as I was about to look away, a faint ripple disturbed the water, sending a trembling ring of light across the surface. For a moment, I caught my reflection, uncertain but whole, framed by the silver glow. It felt like the beginning of something small, unsteady, but real. Hope stirred inside me, as fragile as the moonlight. Maybe I was not completely lost. Maybe, somewhere beyond the emptiness, I could learn who I was becoming after all.