Back in the empty manor, I start packing with savage precision.
Shirts he’d gifted, creams from his half-hearted gestures—all flung into boxes as if they burn.
I can’t help checking Alice’s social media: her latest post shows Alex at the bedside, IV needle in his left hand. Caption: “No wolf will ever love me like this.”
Tears splatter my phone, blurring his tender profile.
For Five years, I’d done the same—rising before dawn to brew his breakfast, leaving the hall light on like a lighthouse, peeling his fruit until my fingertips ached.
Now that gentleness belongs to a she-wolf who bares her throat to him.
I draw a ragged breath, wipe my face on my sleeve, and toss the phone into my bag.
It’s over, I tell myself, fastening the last suitcase with a snap.
No more being Grace Luis, th
