Seraphina’s POV
The Morrison house looked exactly the sa as I rembered from before visits—white clapboard siding with forest green shutters, a wraparound porch lined with hanging flower baskets, and that old wooden swing.
"They’re gonna lose their minds," Caleb said again as we pulled into the gravel driveway. "Mom’s been cooking since I called. Pretty sure she made enough food to feed the entire pack."
I managed a weak smile.
He turned off the engine and looked at with those kind blue eyes. "You ready for this?"
*No.* I wasn’t ready for anything.
But I nodded anyway.
The front door burst open before we even made it up the porch steps.
"Seraphina!"
Margaret appeared in the doorway like a force of nature—gray hair in a ssy bun, flour-dusted apron, arms already outstretched for a hug. Behind her, Robert erged with that gentle smile I rembered so well.
"Oh my goodness, look at you!" Margaret pulled into one of those bone-crushing hugs that only mothers could give. "You’re skin and bones! Haven’t they been feeding you in that fancy city?"
"Mom," Caleb warned gently. "Let her breathe."
"Don’t you ’Mom’ , Caleb Morrison." But she released , her weathered hands moving to cup my face. "Let look at you properly."
I tried to smile, tried to pretend her maternal concern wasn’t making my chest ache with longing for sothing I’d never really had. "Hi, Mrs. Morrison. It’s good to see you."
"None of this Mrs. Morrison nonsense. You’re family, sweetheart. Always have been." Her eyes—so much like Caleb’s—searched my face with motherly worry. "You look tired, honey. When’s the last ti you had a decent al?"
"I ate on the bus—"
"Bus food doesn’t count." She was already herding toward the front door. "Robert, get her bags. Caleb, wash up. I’ve got pot roast in the oven and fresh biscuits cooling on the counter."
The interior of the house was exactly as I rembered. Worn hardwood floors covered with colorful braided rugs. Family photos covering every available surface. The sll of ho cooking and lemon furniture polish.
"I hope you don’t mind the couch," Margaret fussed, leading toward the living room. "We turned Caleb’s old room into Robert’s workshop, and the guest room is full of Christmas decorations I’ve been aning to sort through."
"The couch is perfect," I said quickly. "Really."
Margaret piled my plate high with pot roast and mashed potatoes and green beans from her garden, chattering about local gossip and asking gentle questions about my life that I deflected as carefully as possible.
"And how are those babies of yours?" she asked, passing the butter for my third biscuit. "Caleb ntioned you have a new girl."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "They’re... they’re good. Growing fast."
"Oh, how wonderful!" Margaret’s face lit up. "I bet they’re beautiful. Do they have your eyes?"
*Adrian has his father’s eyes. Lily has mine and Damien’s mixed together—blue-green like the ocean.*
"They’re perfect," I whispered.
Margaret must have heard sothing in my voice because she reached over to pat my hand. "Of course they are, honey. Children always are."
Robert steered the conversation toward safer topics after that—the weather, local news, Caleb’s auto shop. I contributed what I could, but my mind kept drifting.
Were Adrian and Lily eating dinner right now? Was Damien ho, or was he still at the office, drowning himself in work to avoid thinking about ?
Had Adrian asked about today?
"Sera?" Caleb’s voice pulled back to the present. "You okay?"
"Just tired," I lied. "It’s been a long day."
"Of course it has, sweetheart." Margaret was already standing, clearing dishes with motherly efficiency. "You must be exhausted. Why don’t you get settled while us old folks clean up?"
"I can help—"
"Absolutely not." She shooed toward the living room. "You’re a guest in this house. Guests don’t do dishes."
An hour later, after hugs and "sleep well, honey" and promises of pancakes for breakfast, Margaret and Robert disappeared upstairs, leaving Caleb and alone in the living room.
He’d set up the couch with pillows and blankets, even found an old stuffed animal from sowhere and placed it carefully by the pillow.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For all of this. I know it’s unexpected, showing up like this."
"Don’t thank yet." He settled into his father’s old recliner, studying my face with those perceptive blue eyes. "You haven’t told why you’re here."
My stomach clenched. "I told you, I ran into so trouble—"
"Sera." His voice was gentle but firm. "I’ve known you since we were kids. You don’t run to other people when you have trouble. You handle it yourself. So whatever brought you to my doorstep..." He paused. "It must be pretty bad."
I stared down at my hands, folded in my lap like a prayer. "I don’t even know where to start."
"Start wherever feels right."
The kindness in his voice broke sothing inside . Before I could stop myself, the words started pouring out.
"I left them. My mate, my children. I packed a bag and left and I don’t know if I can ever go back." Tears started streaming down my cheeks. "God, Caleb, what kind of mother abandons her babies?"
"Hey." He was out of his chair in seconds, kneeling in front of the couch, his hands covering mine. "Hey, slow down. You’re not making sense."
"I’m not making sense because nothing makes sense!" I pulled my hands free, wiping my face with the backs of them. "My life is falling apart and I don’t know how to fix it."
"Okay. Okay." His voice stayed calm, steady. "Tell what happened. From the beginning."
So I did.
I told him about the rogues. About being captured, tortured, poisoned. About Ayla’s death and waking up human in a hospital bed.
I told him about the engagent party. About the whispers and stares and Emma thinking I was the nanny. About feeling like a stranger in my own life.
I told him about the letter I’d left. About running away because I couldn’t stand to watch myself drag down the people I loved most.
Through all of it, Caleb listened without interruption. His expression shifted from concern to horror to sothing that looked like fury, but he never once told to stop.
When I finally ran out of words, the silence stretched between us like a living thing.
"Sera." His voice was hoarse. "You’re telling you’re completely human now? No wolf at all?"
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. "She’s gone, Caleb. Ayla’s gone. The rogues... they pumped so much wolfsbane into my system that the neural pathways connecting to my wolf were severed."
Caleb was quiet for a long mont, processing everything I’d told him. "Then don’t do anything right now." His voice gentled. "Stay here. Rest. Heal. Figure out what you actually want instead of what you think everyone else needs."
I looked up at him through my tears.
"Sera." He pulled into his arms, holding tight against his chest while I cried. "You’re exactly who you’ve always been. Strong, brave, incredibly stubborn, and way too hard on yourself. You’re not alone, Sera. You never have to be alone again."
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