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She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her thumb trembled slightly before she shoved both hands deep into her pockets again.

“When I was about eleven,” Sloane began, her eyes locked on the dark line of the tree line, “my parents hosted a dinner party for some of my father’s colleagues. I was supposed to be asleep, but I’d gotten up to grab a glass of water. I was sitting on the top stair near the hallway, waiting for the kitchen to clear.”

She took a shuddering breath, her knuckles visibly straining against the fabric inside her pockets.

“I overheard my mother talking to one of her friends in the kitchen. She was laughing—that light, polite, dinner-party laugh she uses when she wants to sound effortless. And then she said it. She told her friend that having me had been an unfortunate accident. That I was a total mistake.”

A furious cold settled heavily in my stomach. The wolf inside me stirred, snarling at the sheer cruelty of it. “Sloane…”

“My father laughed and agreed with her.” Her tone was eerily detached, though the rigid tension in her neck gave her away. “He said they’d had their entire lives mapped out—sabbaticals, travel, career milestones, and so on—and then I happened. They talked about how much higher my father could have climbed in his firm if they hadn’t been anchored down by pediatric appointments and school districts.”

She let out a small, breathless laugh that held no trace of humor.

“I sat on those stairs for twenty minutes,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the stars above us. “And everything suddenly made sense. All the sighs when I asked for help with homework. Them handing me books instead of comfort when I was sick. The subtle bitterness whenever I needed money, or time, or just… attention. I wasn’t their daughter. I was the inconvenience that derailed their future.”

I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to go and tear apart her parents for ever making her feel like a mistake.

“I’ve lived my whole life knowing I was never their priority,” Sloane murmured, finally turning her head to face me. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, reflecting the pale moonlight. “They don’t hate me. They’re just bitter. I ruined their plans before I was even born, and I spent the next fifteen years trying to make up for existing by taking up as little space as humanly possible.”

“Sloane,” I said, my voice low and thick with conviction. I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I was standing directly in front of her. “Look at me.”

She hesitated, then lifted her chin to meet my eyes.

“You are not a mistake,” I told her, making sure every word landed solid and absolute. “You are not an inconvenience. The fact that they were too blind and self-absorbed to see what they had isn’t your failure. It’s theirs.”

A single tear spilled from her eye, tracing a quick line down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.

“You take up space here,” I added gently, resting my hand lightly on her shoulder. “And not once—not for a single second—has it ever been too much.”

Sloane let out a shaky breath, leaning into my touch just a fraction before she caught herself.

“Maybe we’re both terrible at this,” she whispered, trying to offer me a tiny, fragile smile.

“At what?”

“Allowing other people to take care of us.”

“Maybe,” I agreed quietly, my gaze locking onto hers and the woods surrounding us fading to black. “But we can learn.”

After a few steps, she said, “I’m sorry about your dad.”

I looked over at her. She meant it. There was no pity in her face, only understanding and a hint of anger on behalf of a child she’d never known.

I smiled. “Don’t be. My life is better without him in it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

I thought about Mom rebuilding her life after him. She had sworn she would remain single and dedicate everything to raising me and leading the pack. For years, she kept that promise to herself with the same determination she brought to every responsibility. She worked, parented, handled pack matters, and rejected every suggestion that she deserved something beyond duty.

I had been eleven when I finally confronted her.

“Mom almost stayed alone because of him,” I said.

Sloane waited.

“After the divorce, she decided relationships were a distraction she couldn’t afford. Said she needed to focus on being the best alpha and mother possible. When I was a kid, I thought that was noble. But as I got older, I understood it meant she planned to give up an entire part of her life because Dean had hurt her.”