Maria’s POV Orıginal content can be found at Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
Relief washed over me like a tide after I drank the bitter medicine the woman had prepared. Though my body still trembled, I could finally breathe without feeling like my chest was split open. I leaned back against the pillows, drenched in sweat, strands of hair sticking to my temples.
"Better?" Solara asked softly, her hand still steady on my wrist.
I nodded. "A little."
"Good," She said, smiling at me with a warmth that softened her features. "You scared us, Maria."
Jada sat by my side, dabbing my forehead with a damp cloth. Her hands shook, but her voice was firm. "You’ll be fine."
The assurance should have calmed me, but I knew better. Nothing was fine about carrying Triton’s child. The reality pressed heavily on me.
For a while, three of us sat in silence, broken only by the rattle of the teacups on the table as Solara carried them away. I stared at the unfinished painting on her easel. It painted a storm, and that was how I felt inside, like a storm.
"I don’t know what to do," I whispered finally.
"You don’t have to know today," Solara replied. "You just have to calm down and rest."
But calming down and resting was not enough. It didn’t erase the truth. It didn’t tell me how to carry the child of a man whom I rejected.
When I could stand again, weak and steadied by Jada’s arm, Solara walked us to the door. She pressed a small bottle containing liquid into my hand. "This will help ease the sickness if it comes again. Don’t take too much at once."
"Thank you," I said in a barely audible voice.
She smiled. "No thanks needed. Just promise you won’t try to deliberately harm yourself with cinnamon."
I managed a faint smile in return. "I won’t."
The walk home felt longer than ever. Jada kept her hand looped through my arm, supporting me. She didn’t speak, and I didn’t either.
When we reached the gates of my house, something in me shuddered. I felt like my parents could see through me and know the truth.
The moment I stepped inside, my mother rushed forward, her face tight with worry. "Maria, where have you been? You look pale."
"She went to the market with me." Jada quickly intervened.
A man stepped into the hall with my father. He looked like a shaman.
"We called him because of your wolf." Father said.
The shaman raised a bony hand, motioning for me to come closer. "Come, child." His voice was deep.
I obeyed, though my steps were stiff. He touched my forehead, muttered chants, burned herbs whose smoke felt thick and pungent. He asked a couple of questions, all of them related to my wolf.
I swallowed the medicine that he gave me. At last the shaman stepped back. "The silence of your wolf remains. My medicine may coax her to return, but it may take time."
When the shaman finally left, I excused myself quickly. "I need to rest."
I entered my room and collapsed on the bed.
Jada slipped behind me. "What are you going to do?" She asked.
The question shattered me. I wanted to cry, to curl myself alone and forget everything. But I was done crying. Tears never solved anything. Tears won’t decide the future of the unborn child.
I straightened myself on the bed. "I can’t keep crying. I have to take action."
Jada nodded slowly, though her face was tight with worry. "And what action will that be?"
"Triton. He needs to know."
Jada’s brows knitted into a frown. "Maria, he’s gone. He returned to the north with his pack. How would you meet him? You can’t travel to Lycanthia in just a day."
"I will write letters," I said firmly.
Jada studied me for a long moment, then finally nodded.
I moved to my desk and lit the candle. My hand trembled as I lifted the quill, the ink blotting every corner before I steadied it. What would I even say?
I closed my eyes, drew in a breath and then began.
I never thought I’d be writing this to you. The healer confirmed what I feared: that I’m pregnant. The child is yours.
I don’t know what you’d do with this news, or if you’d even care to read it. But I needed to tell you, because keeping it hidden felt like carrying a secret that was never mine alone.
You may hate me for rejecting you, and perhaps I deserve that. But know that what grows inside me is a part of both of us, whether we choose to face it or not.
I don’t ask for anything. I only wanted you to know.
Whether you stand beside me or turn away, the truth still stands. I only ask that you take responsibility.
Line after line, I had poured out my mind. I didn’t beg for his love nor his forgiveness. I only told him the truth, that I was with his child, and the child was his.
By the time I set the quill down, my right hand was stained black. My chest felt lighter, the first step had been taken.
I folded the letter carefully, sealing it with wax.
Jada placed a steady hand on my shoulder. "It is done, then."
I held the letter and walked out, ready to send it to the messenger who would deliver it. Even as I dropped the message with the messenger man, a part of me ached to take it back and replace the formality with the deeper truth.
The words I had written were stripped of what I truly felt. I hadn’t told him about the pain in my heart since the day I accepted his rejection. I hadn’t told him of how I contemplated before rejecting him that day. How I wanted to actually give him the second chance and know why he wanted me back. I had omitted all that.