Rebirth of the Broken Luna A Second Chance at Luna's Heart novel Chapter 421

Chapter 421

“Three weeks later!” Samuel was fully shouting now, apparently too scandalized by my confessions to care that we were surrounded by enemies. “Xena cried herself to sleep every night! Xenois felt terrible!”

“I know!” I said. “I’m sorry! I panicked and didn’t know how to admit I’d been the one who left the cage open!”

“This is insane,” one of the nightwalkers muttered. “They’re about to die and they’re arguing about a rabbit from forty years ago.”

“Thirty-eight years ago,” I corrected automatically. “And it was a very traumatic incident. For everyone involved. Especially the rabbit.”

Jerome looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Enough! I don’t care about your family drama or your confessions or your inability to take responsibility for basic mistakes! You’re both going to die now, and-”

“Actually, Samuel interrupted, his voice suddenly ice cold, “I have a confession too.”

Oh no.

“Samuel,” I said warningly, “don’t you dare-”

“Remember that vase your mother gave us?” he asked, meeting my eyes with an expression that promised trouble. “The one that was supposedly priceless and had been in your family for generations?”

“Samuel, I swear to the moon goddess-”

“I broke it,” he said. “Seventeen years ago during an argument about pack finances. And I blamed Xenois.”

The betrayal hit me like a physical blow. “You blamed our son for breaking my mother’s vase?”

“In my defense, he wasn’t there to deny it,” Samuel said, echoing my earlier excuse.

“And you were so angry that I panicked.”

“That vase was irreplaceable!”

“I know! That’s why I panicked!”

“We made Xenois feel terrible for weeks!”

1/3

“I KNOW!” Samuel shouted. “I felt awful about it! But then you confessed to blaming him for other things and I felt less guilty!”

“That’s not how guilt works!” I yelled back.

‘Clearly it is because I feel better now!”

We were fully shouting at each other now, forty-three years of marriage compressed into this one absurd moment where we were airing grievances while surrounded by enemies who wanted us dead.

“We are terrible parents,” I said finally.

“The worst, Samuel agreed.

“Xenois deserves so much better than us.”

“He really does.”

“If we survive this, we need to apologize properly.”

“Agreed. And maybe go back to therapy.”

“Definitely therapy,” I said. “So much therapy.”

ARE YOU TWO FINISHED?* Jerome roared, his patience clearly exhausted.

“Not really,” I admitted. “But I suppose you want to get on with the dramatic execution speech.”

There is no speech!” Jerome snarled. “There’s just death! Guards—kill them both!”

e nightwalkers moved as one, converging on us with supernatural speed. Samuel and I pressed back to back stinctively, falling into fighting stances we’d perfected over decades of partnership.

“How’s your back?” I asked.

“Terrible,” he admitted. “Yours?”

“My knees are screaming.”

‘Wonderful. We’re going to die because of joint pain and old age.”

“There are worse ways to go,” I said philosophically.

2/3

“Name one.”

“Peacefully in our sleep, having never properly apologized to our son for blaming him for things that weren’t his fault.”

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