Dear Alpha, Your Luna

Chapter 10

Haven

The waiting room of the hospital carried its own kind of chill. Not just from the sterile, over-conditioned air that whispered down from the vents above, but from the whitewashed walls and the glinting tile floors that seemed to echo every footstep, every hushed voice, every muffled sob. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee, but beneath those layers lingered something sharper, something Haven could only describe as fear. It clung to everyone who sat there, shifting restlessly in the uncomfortable chairs, waiting for news that might shatter or soothe them.

Haven sat quietly, her book bag clutched against her chest like a shield. Wide eyes scanned the waiting room, taking in the weary faces of family members who, like her, carried the weight of hope and dread in equal measure. Nurses drifted in and out of the unit with quick, precise movements, their shoes squeaking softly on the floors. She wondered, not for the first time, if any of them truly saw her—or if she had become just another shadow among the grieving.

The room thinned as evening settled in. The sky outside darkened to a deep navy, and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, reminding her that visiting hours were nearly over. Yet again, they had not let her see her father. The ache in her chest deepened with every hour she sat there, waiting for permission that never came.

“Come on, kiddo,” Scott’s voice broke through the silence. He approached with his familiar tired expression, running a hand over his face. “It’s time to head home.”

Haven’s lips trembled. “Mom?”

Scott grimaced, the lines around his mouth deepening. “She’s staying here again. I guess they’re giving her a few more nights before they tell her she can’t anymore.”

She only nodded, the hollow ache inside her expanding. With her bag hugged tighter against her chest, she followed him out to the car.

It had become a cruel rhythm. School. Hospital waiting room. Then someone else’s house. Repeat. Never her real home. Never the warm, familiar comfort she longed for. Some nights, she stayed at Scott’s place. Other nights, Tiffany’s. Each location felt temporary, like a borrowed life.

Her book bag weighed more than its contents suggested. Inside, along with her school supplies, she carried her blanket. Not the music box Wesley had given her, nor the stack of letters she loved to reread—those she’d been forced to leave behind at her real home. But the blanket stayed with her, always. It was her one piece of certainty. She needed it to sleep, needed the feel of it wrapped around her when the world turned too cold.

Scott’s condo was neat, orderly, almost impersonal. He and Tiffany had prepared a spare room for her with a small bed and dresser, nearly identical to the one Tiffany kept for her in her own apartment. Haven supposed she should be grateful, but her heart resisted. It wasn’t hers. None of it was.

At dinner, she kept her eyes lowered, shoveling food into her mouth while Scott stared at his laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in his bloodshot eyes. Words weren’t necessary between them. They both existed in silence, bound by exhaustion, waiting for something neither of them could name.

When the meal ended, Haven retreated upstairs, burrowing beneath the covers of the too-small bed. She tucked the blanket to her nose, breathing in its familiar scent, and forced her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed, every rise and fall of her chest carefully measured. She waited.

Right on cue, Scott came in to check on her. Some nights she pretended to be asleep; others, she couldn’t hide her restless eyes. He always offered the same reassurance—that things would be fine, that her father would recover, that she was safe. But Haven knew the truth. Adults only said those things when they were desperate, when there was nothing else left to say.

That night, she did not move, did not flinch. She let him believe she had drifted off. When he finally shut the door, she lay in stillness until she heard the familiar roar of water through the pipes—Scott’s nightly shower. Her cue.

Heart pounding, Haven slipped from the bed, pulling on her shoes and jacket. She stuffed her blanket into her bag, the zipper’s rasp sounding louder than thunder in the quiet room. Then, with careful steps, she crept downstairs and slipped out into the cool night.

Scott’s home was closer to the hospital than Tiffany’s. That was why she had chosen this night. For weeks, she had memorized every turn, every landmark, every stop on the drive from hospital to condo. She could have recited the path in her sleep. Tonight, she walked it.

Her small feet tapped softly against the pavement, the sound swallowed by the night air. She tugged her hood low, but strands of her fiery hair still caught the moonlight, bright as a beacon. She hunched her shoulders, praying the shadows would keep her hidden from curious eyes.

It took longer on foot than she had expected. By the time the hospital’s parking lot came into view, her legs burned with exhaustion. Relief surged through her. She had made it. No one had stopped her.

She walked through the entrance with her chin held high, feigning the confidence she didn’t feel. If she acted like she belonged, perhaps no one would question her. The man at the front desk was on the phone, distracted, and she breezed past unnoticed. The elevator carried her up with a tinny melody, but she was too tense to hum along.

Her palms were slick, her stomach twisted into knots. When the doors opened, she ducked beneath the counter at the nurses’ station, moving quietly until the hall shielded her from their view. Her heart pounded as she slipped into her father’s room.

One look at him stole the breath from her lungs.

He was thinner than she remembered, his skin tinged gray. Machines surrounded him, wires tangled across his body like cruel vines. Tubes ran to his nose, and IV lines dripped steadily into his hand. This frail figure didn’t look like her father at all.

Her lip trembled, eyes stinging as memories rose—her father laughing in the kitchen, the warmth of his arms around her shoulders. She would have given anything to rewind time, to erase the cruel twist of fate that had brought them here.

The door opened. Haven darted behind the curtain, pressing herself against the wall as two nurses entered.

Their voices were hushed but clear. Stable, they said. No better, no worse. They spoke of her mother, of the way she disappeared each night to drown herself in drink, returning each morning with the scent of alcohol clinging to her clothes. Haven’s chest tightened. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but hearing strangers speak the truth aloud made denial impossible.

When they left, silence swallowed the room once more. Haven slipped from her hiding spot and perched on the bed beside her father. Her hand shook as she reached for his, gripping his cold fingers with trembling ones.

“Dad,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please… please come back.”

The dam holding back her tears broke. She told him everything—the constant moving, her mother’s silence, the suffocating weight of being kept away from him. Her sobs muffled against his chest as she clung to him, desperate for warmth, for strength, for the father she remembered.

At some point, exhaustion stole her consciousness. When she awoke, voices surrounded her, sharp and urgent. She blinked blearily, confusion setting in as she realized she was no longer in her father’s room.

Scott. Tiffany. Her mother. A police officer. Her stomach turned cold with panic. Hands gripped her waist, firm and unyielding.

“No!” she screamed, fighting against the officer’s hold. She tried to run to her family, but they were blocked, held back by a social worker’s firm stance.

Her mother’s voice broke through the chaos, urging her to stop fighting, to go with them. Scott’s words followed, resigned and heavy, sealing her fate.

The strength drained from her body all at once. She sagged against the officer’s chest, sobbing into the fabric of his uniform. “I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over, the words catching on every broken breath. “It’s all my fault.”

But no one could convince her otherwise.

In her heart, Haven believed she had lost everything in that single night.