Chapter 54
Judy’s POV
The house was silent when I returned home from dinner at Gavin’s. It was always quiet these days.
Too quiet.
I hung my coat on the hook and made my way upstairs, pausing outside my mother’s bedroom door. It was down the hall from mine, and no light seeped through the cracks. I wasn’t even sure if she was awake, but I needed to check on her. I needed to make sure she was okay.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for the handle and turned it. The door creaked as it swung open, the sound cutting through the eerie stillness. The room was dark and smelled stale, like it hadn’t been aired out in days. My stomach twisted.
She hadn’t left her bed.
Flicking on the light, I stepped inside.
“Mom?” I called softly, scanning the mess around me. My eyes landed on her small figure curled up in bed, and my chest tightened.
Panic surged through me as I rushed toward her, my breath catching in my throat. I placed a trembling hand on her back, searching for any sign of movement.
Then, finally, I felt it—her slow, steady breathing.
Relief flooded me, and I exhaled shakily.
“Mom?” I tried again, this time shaking her gently. “Have you eaten today?”
I already knew the answer. The untouched plate of food I left her that morning still sat on the nightstand.
She stirred slightly, lifting her head. Her unfocused eyes blinked up at me.
“Oh, hey, Judy,” she murmured sleepily. “When did you get here?”
“A little while ago,” I said, studying her sunken features. “I’m worried about you. You haven’t left your room in days, and you’re not eating. Please, Mom. You need to get out of bed.”
“I’m not very hungry,” she muttered, resting her head back on the pillow.
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair.
“You need to eat something,” I insisted. “Dad wouldn’t want this for you.”
At the mention of my father, she flinched.
“I saw him today,” I added quickly.
Her gaze snapped to mine.
“You saw your father?”
I nodded.
“He’s doing well,” I lied. I couldn’t tell her the truth—that when I saw him, he was beaten black and blue. That there was sadness and fear in his eyes.
I couldn’t break her even more than she already was.
“Please, come downstairs with me,” I urged. “Just eat something.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, she sighed and gave a small nod.
I helped her out of bed, my heart tugging painfully at how fragile she felt. She clung to my arm as we slowly made our way down the stairs. When we reached the living room, she sank onto the couch, her gaze fixated on the floor.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” I told her before heading to the kitchen.
Grabbing a box of pasta and a jar of sauce from the cabinet, I placed them on the counter and reached into the freezer for meatballs.
I moved through the kitchen like a ghost, my mind lost in thought.
My mother was shutting down. Her wolf was suffering, and she was wasting away because she couldn’t be with her mate.
I bit my lip as hot tears stung my eyes.
I couldn’t break down.
Not now.
I had to be strong—for her. Because if I wasn’t, who else would be?
I reached for the orange juice in the fridge and unscrewed the cap, but my fingers slipped.
The bottle tumbled from my hands, crashing to the floor.
Juice splattered everywhere.
I gasped, stumbling back as the sticky liquid spread across the tiles.
And just like that, I snapped.
Tears burned down my cheeks as I sank to the ground, hands trembling. It wasn’t about the orange juice. It was everything. My father. My mother. The weight of holding everything together when I was barely holding myself together.
“Shit, Judy,” a familiar voice said from the kitchen entrance.
I froze.
Whipping around, I saw Ethan stepping inside, shutting the door behind him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, striding toward me. “Get up.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even fight back.
He grabbed my arms and pulled me away from the mess, his grip firm but not unkind. Without another word, he grabbed some napkins and started cleaning up the spilled juice.
I wiped at my tear-streaked face, watching in silence as he worked.
Once the floor was clean, he stood, poured a fresh glass of orange juice, and placed the bottle back in the fridge. Then he turned to me, extending a hand.
I hesitated but took it.
He pulled me to my feet, his eyes searching mine.
“What are you doing here, Ethan?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Saving you, apparently,” he said. “What the hell were you doing on the floor?”
I swallowed. “I spilled some juice… I was cleaning it up.”
He scoffed, seeing right through my lie.
