The Rejected Luna (Avery and Kaden) novel Chapter 51

**Between Then and Now by Mark Twain**

**Chapter 4**

The man’s voice was a rough caress, laced with an unmistakable hunger. “I’ll be gentle. I’d never hurt our pup.”

Moments later, the house was filled with the sounds of their fervor—moans that danced through the air, gasps that punctuated the silence, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed that had once cradled our dreams.

They were in our bedroom.

I stood paralyzed in the hallway, the urns pressed tightly against my chest, my heart racing as if it were trying to escape. I felt as though the very walls were closing in around me, trapping me in this moment of unbearable reality. My body trembled, but I remained silent, a ghost in my own home. I just… listened.

Let it hurt.

Let it serve as a reminder of why I can never look back.

Time slipped away, a blur of anguish and disbelief. Eventually, the cacophony faded, replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching.

The bedroom door swung open with a creak that echoed like a gunshot in the stillness.

Hannah’s eyes sparkled with triumph the moment she laid eyes on me. “Oh! Luna Lena, you’re back! Why didn’t you say anything? We had no idea you were home.” Her laughter was light, almost mocking, as she placed a hand on her still-flat stomach. “Blake just couldn’t help himself—I told him no, but you know how Alphas are.”

Blake, with an arm possessively wrapped around her waist, cast a cold, dismissive glance in my direction. “Why bother explaining to her? She’s nothing.”

Then, turning to Hannah, his voice softened, dripping with false affection. “Come on, darling. We have that ultrasound appointment. Our pup needs the best all the time.”

Not once did his gaze linger on me or acknowledge the daughters we had together.

Not once did he exhibit a shred of remorse for what he had done.

Silently, I stepped aside, creating a passage for them to glide past.

As they brushed by, Blake’s eyes finally fell upon the tattered teddy bear I clutched in my arms. His expression twisted in disgust, as if he had come across something foul. “What trash are you carrying around? Toss it out before it stinks up the house.”

And just like that—

He was gone.

I glanced down at the urns, my voice barely a whisper, a fragile thread in the silence. “He didn’t mean you. You’re not trash. You’re Mommy’s precious.”

Alone at last, I began the painful task of packing.

Tiny dresses that once filled our home with laughter. Stuffed animals that had been companions in countless adventures. Hand-painted mugs, each a testament to moments shared. Half-used crayons, remnants of creativity and joy.

Each item felt like a knife, twisting deeper into my heart with every memory it held.

Then, in their bedroom, my eyes fell upon something that made my breath hitch—a framed photo resting on their little desk.

A family portrait.

Except Blake was conspicuously absent.

It was just me and the twins, our faces glowing under the warmth of a summer sun, smiles bright and innocent.

My hands trembled as I lifted the frame, feeling the weight of nostalgia crash over me.

But then, something caught my eye—a crude drawing of a man, hastily scrawled in crayon beside our figures.

And beneath it, in wobbly letters that spoke of innocence, “Daddy loves Mommy.”

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