Chapter 163: The Narrative

Joanna was there to separate me from Michael, and I was stupid enough to let her do it. She kept attacking my psychological defenses, and I suffered as much as she wanted me to and began to distrust Michael, making my relationship with Michael tenuous.

I hated this crazy jealous self, but I realized I couldn’t control my heart. My wolf and I had become paranoid and crazy since Joanna came along. I knew I had to change my mind, but it wasn’t something I could control.

I wasn’t a shining girl growing up, and Robert’s rejection had destroyed my self-confidence. It made me fearful of Michael.

My rejection and escape often had been a form of denial, a lack of security in my relationship with Michael, and a constant fear that he would leave me behind. Joanna’s presence had magnified that, and she had made me doubt myself and my mate, who didn’t understand, even more.

I lay in my familiar little bed in my bedroom, staring at the ceiling.

It was a strange feeling. I had lived here since birth and had spent the first eighteen years of my life there. After only a few months at Michael’s place, I felt a little out of place.

I knew everything there was to know, which was supposed to make me feel safe. But I missed the bedroom I shared with Michael. He smelled so good.

I buried myself in pillows and blankets, and the comforter I had washed so many times was soft and comfortable and smelled of fresh laundry detergent; even when I wasn’t home, my parents kept my room just fine. But something was missing, I thought, something that mattered.

No, it couldn’t have been Michael.

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I refused to draw that conclusion and buried my head under the covers.

When I had to pop my head out of the covers because of the lack of oxygen, I found my mother sitting by my bed and my father watching me worriedly from the doorway.

I didn’t know when they’d return, but I peeked out from under the covers and smiled at my mother. I didn’t want them to think I was running away from something.

I was an adult. I didn’t want my parents to worry about me anymore.

My mother reached out and hugged me. “Oh, my baby, Cecily, you’re back.”

I hugged her back and felt a twinge of shame in my chest.

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‘Don’t let them know you’re here because you’re sad.’

I told myself to hold back the tears about to come from my eyes. But I suspected my mother could still see that I had never succeeded in hiding anything from her.

My mother didn’t ask me why I suddenly came home and buried myself in the quilt. She just asked me what I wanted to eat in her gentle tone. I muttered, “Anything.”.

“Okay, then do whatever you want,” my father said with a smile, then walked into the kitchen to get busy.

My mother sat next to me, stroked my hair, and told me something that had recently happened between her and my father. They had not accepted Michael’s invitation to travel around the world but were living a simple life as usual.

As they had told Michael before, their greatest wish was for me to be happy and safe.

I suddenly felt that I shouldn’t hide what I was going through from her.

They were the people closest to me, and I should have opened up to them, not shut myself away in the name of not worrying them. I had broken their hearts by not saying a word in the face of Robert’s rejection, and I shouldn’t have done it a second time.

“I want to talk to you after dinner, okay?” I whispered.

My mother looked at me in surprise, then smiled with relief and said, “Of course, honey. We’ll always be behind you.”

My father cooked a sumptuous dinner. He seemed to sense something was wrong but did not ask much. He did what he could in silence, just like he did for the family.

He didn’t emphasize what he did, but he cared for everyone. He might be a small fry in the outside world, but he was a great man in our family.

After dinner, my father watched TV in the living room. My mother and I came to my room. She cut some fruit and brought it in. We sat on the small balcony outside my house. I told my mother about what had happened recently with Joanna.

My mother listened in silence until I told her everything. She didn’t make any comments and just handed me fruit and tea when I paused.

This was the first time I had told this story to another person without any psychological burden, and I knew she would be on my side and give me sincere advice.

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