He married me because I looked like her.
He taught me everthing— all to mold me into her.
For ten years, he looked at me, but the eyes he saw were always someone else's.
I thought if I tried hard enough, he would one day love the real me.
He never knew I wasn't an Omega without a wolf.
He never knew the divorce agreement he signed with his own hand buried the last hope of the Blood Moon Pack.
He handed me a forged medical report, his eyes red, and said, "I don't want to burden you."
I didn't expose him.
I signed the papers, took our son, and walked away without looking back.
Later, he knelt by the sea, screaming my name through tears.
I didn't turn around.
Because a siren only comes ashore once in a lifetime.
She did. Now it's time to go home.
