My Alpha Forgot Our Dead Daughter’s Anniversary

The Pack House loomed before us, its stone facade gleaming in the afternoon sun. I helped Axel from the car, his arm steady around my waist. Dr. Hartwell had insisted on discharge today, despite my concerns about his condition.

"Whoa," Axel breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the sprawling mansion. "This is... ours?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "Yes."

"But how? I was just released from prison. I don't understand any of this." His fingers traced the marble steps leading to the grand entrance. "Why would they let me live here?"

The servants lined up at the entrance, bowing their heads respectfully. "Welcome home, Alpha. Luna."

Axel flinched at the title. "Alpha? What are they talking about?"

I guided him inside, past the formal dining room where we once shared meals as a family—before everything fell apart. "You became Alpha after you were released. You challenged the previous Alpha and won."

"But that would mean..." His voice trailed off as realization dawned. "That would mean I killed him."

The truth hung between us, unspoken. Yes, my gentle mate had become a killer to claim power. To claim me.

As we climbed the stairs to our private quarters, Axel's pace slowed. His nostrils flared, and I knew he was scenting something I couldn't perceive.

"Noelle," he whispered, his voice breaking. "What's that smell?"

I froze, knowing exactly what he meant. "What smell?"

"Like... rot." His hand reached for mine, squeezing tightly. "It's coming from us. From our bond."

We reached our bedroom door, and I hesitated before pushing it open. The master suite was immaculate as always—my side of the bed untouched, his side bearing the faint indentation of his body from nights spent reaching for me in his sleep.

Axel stepped inside, then immediately backed out, his face contorted in distress. "Noelle, why do you smell so sad?"

I couldn't answer. How could I explain that the sadness was a physical manifestation of our dying bond? That every day for three years, I'd carried the weight of our daughter's death and his betrayal?

"I'll sleep in the guest room," I said quietly, turning away.

---

The sound of the front door crashing open jolted me from my thoughts. I'd been arranging fresh linens in the guest room when Brinley's voice echoed through the Pack House.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "Where's Axel?"

I rushed downstairs to find her striding through the foyer, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor. Her eyes were rimmed with what looked like genuine tears.

"Brinley," I acknowledged coldly. "He's recovering. You shouldn't be here."

"Recovering?" She pushed past me toward the stairs. "He needs me. I'm the one who understands him now."

A low growl stopped her in her tracks.

Axel stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Brinley's expression shifted instantly from concern to seduction. "Oh, baby," she cooed, starting up the stairs. "It's me. Don't you remember?"

"Noelle?" Axel looked past her to me, confusion and disgust warring on his face. "Who is this woman?"

"She's... a pack member," I said carefully.

Brinley reached for him, her hand outstretched. "Axel, darling. I've been so worried about you."

Axel's growl deepened, more wolf than man. He moved with startling speed, positioning himself between Brinley and me. His shoulders squared as he faced her, protective instincts flaring.

"Don't touch me," he snarled. "You smell wrong. Like lies."

Brinley's face paled. "But we—"

"Get out," Axel commanded, his voice vibrating with authority that belied his youthful consciousness. "Now."

The force of his command—pure Alpha power without the corruption of his later years—sent Brinley stumbling backward. She looked from Axel to me, hatred flashing in her eyes before she turned and fled.

---

The next morning, I woke to find a small bouquet of wildflowers outside my door. Purple asters and white daisies—the same flowers Axel used to pick for me when we were young.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the small card tucked among the stems.

*To my beautiful mate,*

*I don't know what I did wrong, but I'll spend every day making it right.*

*Forever yours,*

*Axel*

His handwriting was messier than I remembered—the scrawl of a teenager, not the precise script of an Alpha who signed legal documents and pack treaties.

I pressed the card to my chest, tears blurring my vision. This wasn't real. This was just the ghost of the boy I loved, haunting me with what could have been.

More flowers appeared the next day. And the next. Each accompanied by notes written in that same youthful hand:

*Noelle, why won't you look at me?*

*I dreamed about our wedding day.*

*I can still taste your kiss from five years ago.*

I found myself standing in the forest edge where the flowers grew wild, imagining him there—the real him, not this echo of who he once was.

"Noelle?"

I turned to find Axel watching me from a distance, his eyes hopeful and afraid.

"Why are you crying?" he asked softly.

I couldn't answer. How could I explain that every tender gesture from this version of him was a knife twisting in my heart?