The Broken Luna, Now His Regret novel Chapter 11

11 Chapter 11 The Christmas Day

Mira woke early on December 25th, her father’s birthday and Christmas morning all rolled into one. The house was still quiet, but she could hear her mother moving around downstairs. 1

In the kitchen, Estelle was already pulling out mixing bowls.

“Mom, go back to bed. I’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to cook all day-”

“I want to.” Mira tied on an apron. “I spent years cooking for people who never appreciated it. Today is for someone who deserves it.”

Estelle’s eyes misted, but she nodded and squeezed Mira’s hand before retreating.

Mira cooked. She roasted a massive turkey with herb butter and citrus. She made her father’s favorite sage and sausage stuffing from scratch. She whipped potatoes until they were clouds, glazed carrots with honey and thyme, baked rolls that filled the house with yeast and warmth.

Violet appeared around noon with Freya in tow. “We’re here to help.”

“Can I lick the spoon?” Freya asked hopefully, eyeing the chocolate cake batter.

“After we pour it into the pans,” Mira promised.

They worked together, laughing when Freya got flour on her nose, when Violet nearly dropped the turkey, when Ronan wandered in asking if he could “just taste one roll” and was shooed away.

“We have staff who could do all this,” Ronan said, but his tone was gentle, concerned.

“I know.” Mira didn’t look up from crimping pie crust. “But I want to. This matters to

me.”

By evening, the dining room table groaned under the weight of the feast. The turkey sat golden and perfect at the center, surrounded by bowls and platters and baskets of everything Mira had poured her heart into.

When Garrett came downstairs and saw it all, he stopped in the doorway.

“Mira…”

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11 Chapter 11 The Christmas Day

“Happy birthday, Dad.”

They sat down together–all of them. Violet said grace. They passed dishes and piled plates high and talked over each other in the way families do when they’re happy and safe and together.

Freya somehow got chocolate cake frosting on everyone during dessert, which

dissolved into a playful chaos of napkins and laughter and Ronan pretending to be stern while Violet smeared a dab on his nose.

They sang happy birthday to Garrett, terribly off–key, and he blew out his candles with tears in his eyes.

“Having you home,” he said, his voice thick; “is all I wanted.”

Mira hugged him and finally let herself cry too.

Later that night, she opened her long–dormant social media account. She’d avoided it for years–what was there to share? Another empty evening at the manor? Another dinner alone?

But now she had something worth documenting.

She posted nine photos: her father’s surprised face, Freya covered in frosting, the laden table, the family gathered together, the messy beautiful chaos of people who loved each other.

Her caption was simple: This day belongs to you, Dad. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas. All my love.

Within an hour, old friends were commenting. People she’d lost touch with when she’d married into Ravencrest. People who remembered her.

So glad to see you smiling again!

Your dad looks so happy! Merry Christmas, Mira!

Is that little Freya? She’s gotten so big!

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Mira read each comment and felt something she hadn’t felt in years: like she was part

of something real. Something that didn’t require her to be perfect or obedient or

grateful just to exist within it.

She belonged here.

She always had.

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11 Chapter 11 The Christmas Day

The evening wound down slowly, peacefully. Ronan built a fire while Freya played with her new toys. Violet and Estelle cleaned up the kitchen, shooing Mira away when she tried to help. Garrett sat in his favorite chair, watching his family with contentment

written across his face.

This was what love looked like, Mira realized. Not grand gestures or expensive gifts. Just presence. Just showing up, day after day, for the people who mattered.

She’d forgotten that. Lost it somewhere between breeding schedules and pack obligations and trying to be enough for someone who would never value her.

But she remembered now.

And she was never forgetting again.

Freya climbed into Mira’s lap, sticky fingers and all, and rested her head against her aunt’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home, Auntie Mira.”

“Me too, sweetheart.”

“Are you staying forever?”

Mira looked around the room–at her parents, her brother, her sister–in–law, this perfect little person in her arms–and felt something settle in her chest.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then,” Freya declared with the absolute certainty of a five–year–old.

Mira kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of chocolate and strawberry shampoo. “Forever sounds perfect.”

As the fire crackled and her family moved around her in easy comfort, Mira allowed herself to imagine a future. Not the one she’d planned, not the one she’d sacrificed everything for, but a new one.

A future where she was whole. Where she healed, not just others, but herself. Where she learned to love again, starting with the person she’d neglected most: herself.

And maybe, someday, when Brielle was old enough to ask questions, to seek truth instead of the carefully constructed lies Astrid had fed her–maybe then there would be room for reconciliation.

But for tonight, for this moment, Mira was exactly where she needed to be.

Home.