Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 186

Chapter 186: The Shape of What Was

Laila’s turning ritual was successful without any problems. Although there was always a chance of failure... of never coming out alive from such a ritual. But physical condition, personal beliefs, and mental fortitude gave a greater chance of survival. Eleanor had been confident about Laila’s success, but she became slightly worried when the white light descended and Laila let out an ear-piercing cry.

This was the first time Eleanor had observed a turning ritual. Although she herself had been turned, it had happened under very different circumstances. At that time, she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Whatever life presented in front of her, she simply accepted it... without questions, without resistance.

She had been kidnapped and brutally raped. Then came the pregnancy, clearly from one of the kidnappers. Her boyfriend had broken up with her. She was devastated, utterly shattered, teetering on the edge of ending her life.

And when she learned that all her misfortunes were orchestrated by her family and boyfriend... and that they were planning to kill her, it was all over. Her entire world collapsed in that single moment.

She didn’t even know why she fled from home that day. Maybe she wanted to live. Maybe something else had stirred inside her. Even now, with her evolved memories when she was able to recall her childhood with painful clarity... she still couldn’t say for sure what had pushed her to run.

When the accident happened on the road, she’d felt... relieved. She had thought her suffering would finally end. She had accepted death as her escape.

Then she woke up. Ethan had brought her to his home. She was still alive... but inside, she had already died. So, when Selene told her she would not survive without being turned, she didn’t care. She didn’t want to live. She didn’t even react when Ethan revealed he was a werewolf.

She still remembered that dream of the unborn baby, of its pitiful cry. That vision changed everything. That child’s imagined voice gave her the courage to live. She reminded herself constantly: she wasn’t living for herself anymore. She was living for the baby.

She went through the turning with that sole purpose. Whatever Ethan, Selene, or Fiona asked, she followed. Many things were left unexplained. Some instructions contradicted each other. But she didn’t care. She endured all of it... for the baby.

By the time she was fully turned and began thinking clearly, days had passed. Her bloodline had already awakened. She had stepped onto a path she never chose... but one she walked nonetheless.

Now, thinking back, she wondered: if she had been in her right mind, would she have chosen to be turned?

Maybe she would have. Maybe not. But she would have asked questions first.

Turning by an Alpha’s bite was considered extremely dangerous. The chances of survival were so low that unless it was absolutely necessary, no one attempted it. Her condition had been so dire that Ethan believed the risk of turning was less than the certainty of death.

But, somehow, what had happened turned out for the best. Her life now was good. The Raynors were good to her. She had Freya... And Ethan.

A rare smile crept across Eleanor’s lips as she leaned against the seat. Under the fleeting streetlight, no one saw it. Her convoy sped through the quiet midnight road toward her villa.

"Freya might already be asleep," she thought, and opened her eyes to see how long it would take to reach home. She looked outside the window.

Outside her window, the world whispered in silver and shadow. Pools of streetlamp glow formed golden halos along the roadside, casting a surreal shimmer over the foliage. Trees stood like silent sentinels, their limbs half-draped in darkness, half-kissed by light, as though the night itself couldn’t decide whether to conceal or reveal.

A fine mist clung to the ground, thin as silk, rising off the heath that bordered the walkway. It drifted in slow, sleepy waves, catching the light like breath in winter. The sky hung vast and ancient above her... dotted with scattered stars that blinked like distant thoughts... eternal, and indifferent.

She pressed her fingers lightly against the cool glass. The world beyond was still and open, yet it pulsed with a hidden life, a secret rhythm that only those who truly watched could sense.

She imagined the lives flickering in silence... strangers asleep behind quiet windows, foxes darting between hedges, wind carrying forgotten words over the fields. And above all that, the night wore its silence like a crown.

Eleanor breathed in slowly. A thin smile traced her lips... not one of joy, but of recognition. Of understanding. The road didn’t ask who she was. It didn’t care where she had been. It simply stretched forward, offering space. And in that space... there was freedom. A calm, almost sacred detachment.

"Perhaps everything is like this," she thought. "We think we’re moving toward something... home, meaning, closure... but maybe we are simply meant to witness the passing scenes. Like actors who realise too late that the play was never about them."

A lone car passed in the opposite lane, its lights carving a brief, blinding arc through her reality before vanishing into the night.

"A few minutes more..." she thought, and closed her eyes again.

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