The Silent Luna's Trial (Maple and Finn) novel Chapter 49

Chapter 4

His voice was rough, thick with a hunger that made my skin crawl.

“I’ll be gentle. I’d never harm our pup,” he murmured, the possessiveness laced with a dark promise.

Seconds later, the sounds of their passion echoed through the house—moans, gasps, the familiar creak of the bed that had once belonged to us.

They were in what used to be our bedroom.

I stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway, clutching the urns tightly to my chest, unable to step forward or retreat. My body trembled, but I held my breath, making no sound. I just… listened.

Let the pain wash over me.

Let it remind me why I can never turn back.

Time blurred into a haze. Eventually, the noises faded. Footsteps drew closer.

The bedroom door swung open.

Hannah’s eyes sparkled with triumph the moment she spotted me.

“Oh! Luna Lena, you’re home! Why didn’t you say anything? We had no clue you were back,” she said with a giggle, her hand resting protectively over her still-flat belly. “Blake just couldn’t resist—I told him no, but you know how Alphas are.”

Blake wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, his gaze icy as it flicked over me.

“Why waste time explaining to her? She’s nothing,” he sneered.

Then, softer, to Hannah: “Come on, darling. We’ve got that ultrasound appointment. Our pup deserves the best, always.”

Not once did his eyes meet mine. Not once did he acknowledge our daughters.

Not once did he show even a flicker of regret.

Silently, I stepped aside, making way for them to pass.

But as they brushed past, Blake’s eyes finally landed on the worn, carved teddy bear I held close. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“What trash are you lugging around? Throw it out before it stinks up the house,” he spat.

And just like that—

He was gone.

I looked down at the urns, my voice barely audible.

“He didn’t mean you. You’re not trash. You’re Mommy’s precious.”

Finally alone, I began packing.

Tiny dresses folded carefully. Stuffed animals lined up as if for a parade. Hand-painted mugs, half-used crayons scattered like forgotten dreams.

Every single item stabbed at my heart.

Then, in their bedroom, I found it—a framed photo resting on their small desk.

A family portrait.

Except Blake wasn’t in it.

Just me and the twins, smiling beneath the warm summer sun.

My hands trembled as I lifted the frame.

But then I noticed something else—

A crude drawing of a man, scribbled in crayon beside us.

Beneath it, in shaky letters: “Daddy loves Mommy.”

A small heart followed the words.

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