Page 53 of Abandoned By My Alpha Husband

"She's my wife."

My voice was hoarse and raw. The nurse called the on-call doctor. He composed himself and led me respectfully through the corridor, pushing open the patient room door.

The instant the door opened, her scent crashed over me.

The crisp clarity of lily and bay leaf, mixed with sweat and fresh blood. The entire room was saturated with her smell, thick and real, proof she'd been here moments ago.

I stepped into the room. The bed was rumpled and creased—someone had lain there a long time, barely managing to sit up. A tray at the foot of the bed held used gauze. A tuft of pale newborn hair lay on the pillow.

The window was half-open. Night wind lifted the curtains, letting them fall again and again.

The doctor spoke quietly behind me. "The patient escaped through the window. The nurse had just detected the baby is a hybrid. We were about to report it as required—"

The bloodstains on the sheets were mostly dried, congealed into dark brown. Both times she'd given birth, I wasn't there!

My wolf curled up completely, silent. No more raging howls. Just a low, hollow keening that vibrated through bone and marrow.

She'd left.

She didn't want us anymore.

This was what losing your mate felt like. Not brief sadness. It was having your soul gouged out, leaving a permanent void, a permanent incompleteness. A wound that would never heal. Every day for the rest of my life would be wrapped in endless emptiness and torment.

I knelt by the bed, gripping the wrinkled sheets, breathing shallow and burning. The last time, I couldn't keep her. This time, I'd failed completely again. Her scent clung to my fingertips, cruelly reminding me of everything I'd lost with my own hands. I knelt there, helpless, watching that scent—hers alone—fade bit by bit, disappearing completely.

The hospital's white light was blinding and cold, desolate and barren, just like my utterly hollow soul.

This was all my fault.

Chapter Seventeen

Elena

Morning sunlight sliced through gaps in the curtains, cutting narrow strips of light across the wooden floor. I stood at my workbench, fingers gently rolling a lavender petal, bringing it to my nose—the scent was fresh and soft, no harsh chemical bite.

Five years.

Five years was enough time to change everything. I'd gone from that woman driven out of Silver pine, fleeing the hospital, to a fragrance shop owner everyone knew by name in this small town in Silverthread Kingdom.

"Mom!"

Anya's voice drifted up from downstairs, bright and crisp with morning cheerfulness.

"Coming!" I set the petal back on its dish, wiped my hands on my apron, and headed down.

The town was quiet in the mornings, air thick with the scent of flowers and herbs. This border town in Silverthread Kingdom was small, mostly werewolves with a handful of humans and mixed-bloods. People here didn't obsess over bloodlines like they did in Silver pine. Mixed-bloods could live freely without fear of persecution or murder.

I'd opened a fragrance shop here.

At first, it was just survival—when I'd fled here with newborn Anya, all I had was that old wooden box and a few changes of clothes. I rented a tiny place, though it wasn't really renting—the landlord took pity on us. I didn't pay him back in full until things stabilized.

I started making fragrance products again. Turned out nobody here had seen anything like it. Perfect—a blank market. They were curious about these fragrant things. Slowly, word spread about a woman whose products actually worked—helped with sleep, eased anxiety, promoted relaxation, all without the side effects of witchcraft. Silverthread Kingdom had the most thriving witch culture on the entire Moonfall Continent.

Orders grew. I moved from that tiny place to a two-story building—shop downstairs, living space upstairs. My reputation spread across the Silverthread Kingdom. People traveled from other cities just to buy from me. I kept innovating—air purifiers, mood enhancers. I made small pendants in cute shapes: dinosaurs, rabbits, all kinds of adorable designs. Girls could hang them on their bags, and parents could buy them for their kids' backpacks. They repelled insects.

I came down the stairs to find Anya at the table, oatmeal and cut fruit in front of her. She looked up, eyes shining—those gray eyes with that thin ring of gold at the edges, like her father's.

My chest tightened, but I kept my face neutral. "Anya, done with breakfast?"