11 Chapter 11
Beta Julian was the first to react, stepping in to pull Lily away.
She stood still for a long moment, her head bowed, before finally forcing a smile.
“Brooks, are you tired?”
After the wedding, they returned to the pack together. Lily stayed by his side as he greeted his parents, and later, they moved into the new house I had prepared.
The house I was supposed to share with him.
After my death, the Moon Goddess took pity on me.
She allowed me to linger, to remain by Brooks’s side as a wandering spirit. I watched over
him, unseen and unheard, a silent presence in his world.
I told myself I would only stay until he healed. Until he was happy.
But that day never came.
In the third year after his return to the pack, Brooks was formally diagnosed with severe
PTSD.
He could no longer distinguish reality from hallucinations.
Despite his remarriage, despite becoming Alpha, despite everything he had fought for–he was still haunted.
I learned the truth too late.
During his disappearance all those years ago, Brooks had been ambushed by another pack. He had been captured. Imprisoned.
For half a year, he endured something so horrific that even the Moon Goddess refused to tell me.
“He never forgot his determination to return,” was all she said.
But at what cost?
The trauma stole his memories, his joy, his peace,
When he finally escaped, his mind was fractured. He forgot so many things. The faces of his loved ones. The past that shaped him.
But his instincts led him home.
Lily found him–lost, broken, starving.
She took him in. She searched for treatments, fought for him, loved him.
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11 Chapter 11
And he let her.
Because he couldn’t remember the one person who had loved him first.
After returning to the pack, Brooks played his part well.
He cooperated with the doctors. Smiled at his people. Fulfilled his duties as Alpha.
Everyone thought he was recovering. That he was happy.
But **inside–**his spirit had long since collapsed.
His body weakened. His appetite vanished. He barely ate, surviving on nutrient drips.
Doctor Reynolds tried everything. **Physical therapy, psychological therapy–**nothing
worked.
Because Brooks had started to remember.
And with each fragment that returned, the weight of his past dragged him further down.
There was one thing he couldn’t let go of.
He spent hours, days, weeks drawing.
A girl in a white wedding dress.
Her outline was soft. Her figure was familiar.
But her face?
Her face was always missing.
He convinced himself it wasn’t Lily.
Because deep inside, he knew.
Everyone assumed he would spend the rest of his life like this.
A man trapped in his own mind.
But on the last evening-
Brooks was found dead in his painting studio.
His final piece still unfinished.
The Moon Goddess sighed. “It’s a good thing,” she told me. “His suffering has finally ended.”
Because the truth was-
He had been trying to leave for a long time.
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The hunger strikes. The failed suicide attempts. The silent cries for help no one truly understood.
Now, at least, he was free.
After his death, Lily buried us together.
She found a place where the flowers bloomed vibrantly, where the wind carried whispers of a love that once was.
And on top of our grave–an orange flower swayed gently in the breeze.
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