The War God Alpha's Arranged Bride (Evelyn and Alexander) novel Chapter 233

**Steps Along Forgotten Roads**
**By Sophia Reed**
**Chapter 233: Ethan’s Help**

**Judy’s POV**

As I stepped into the house after a long evening at Gavin’s, a familiar hush enveloped me. The silence was almost oppressive, a stark contrast to the laughter and chatter I had just left behind. It felt like the walls were closing in, echoing the solitude that had become our home’s unwelcome companion.

My mother had retreated to her room, and I could sense her presence like a ghost haunting the quiet corners of our lives. I hung my coat on the hook, each movement deliberate, as if the sound might shatter the stillness. Climbing the stairs, I hesitated outside her bedroom door, my heart racing with a mix of concern and dread. The hallway felt like a tunnel leading to a place I feared to enter. No light spilled out, and I wondered if she was even awake. Still, I needed to see her; I needed to know she was okay.

With a trembling hand, I grasped the door handle, turning it slowly. The door creaked ominously, and I winced as the musty air hit me. It was clear she hadn’t stirred from the bed for what felt like an eternity, and a wave of sadness washed over me at the sight.

Taking a deep breath, I flicked the light switch, illuminating the room that had become a shadow of its former self.

“Mom?” I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I surveyed the chaotic mess that surrounded her. My gaze fell on her frail figure, lying motionless on the bed, and my chest tightened painfully.

Panic surged within me as I rushed to her side, my heart pounding in my ears. I placed my hand gently on her back, desperate for any sign of life. When I felt the rise and fall of her breathing, a wave of relief washed over me, but it was quickly overshadowed by the heaviness in my heart.

“Mom?” I repeated, this time giving her a gentle nudge. “Have you eaten anything today?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. I already knew the answer; the plate of food I had left for her this morning sat untouched on the nightstand, a stark reminder of her despair.

Her head lifted slightly, her eyes struggling to focus on me.

“Oh, hey, Judy,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “When did you get here?”

“A little while ago,” I replied, my worry spilling over. “I’m really concerned about you. You haven’t left this room in days, and the food I’ve been bringing you is still there. Please, you need to get out of bed and eat something.”

“I’m not very hungry,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she sank back into the pillows.

I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration, a sigh escaping my lips.

“You need to eat something, Mom. Dad wouldn’t want this for you,” I said, watching her flinch at the mention of my father. “I went to see him earlier today.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked at me with a mix of surprise and fear.

“You saw your father?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“He’s doing well,” I lied, knowing full well the truth was far darker. I couldn’t tell her about the bruises or the sadness lurking in his gaze. “Please, come downstairs with me and eat something…”

For a moment, she remained silent, her body unmoving. Then, with a heavy sigh, she lifted her head, and I helped her rise from the bed. She felt so fragile in my arms, and my heart ached for her. As we made our way down the stairs, she clung to my arm, her weight a reminder of her vulnerability.

Once in the living room, she sank into the couch, her gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding my eyes.

“I’m going to get you some food,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful as I headed into the kitchen.

I rummaged through the cabinets, grabbing a box of pasta and a jar of sauce—my culinary ambitions had dwindled to this. As I searched the freezer for meatballs, my mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, consumed by my parents’ struggles and my mother’s pain.

She was suffering, mourning her mate, and I could feel her spirit dimming. My heart clenched as I fought back tears; I had to be strong for her, to be the anchor she needed in this storm.

I reached for the orange juice in the fridge, hoping the sweetness might lift her spirits. But as I poured, the bottle slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor and sending juice splattering everywhere.

“Oh no!” I gasped, stepping back in shock as the sticky liquid spread across the tiles.

In that moment, the floodgates opened, and tears streamed down my cheeks, mingling with the mess at my feet.

“Shit, Judy,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, breaking through my despair.

I turned to find Ethan standing there, concern etched on his face as he shut the door behind him.

“What’s wrong with you? Get up,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument as he moved to pull me away from the orange juice. I didn’t have the energy to protest; I simply let him guide me away from the mess.

He quickly grabbed napkins, kneeling to clean up my blunder. I wiped at my eyes, watching him in silence as he worked, a strange comfort in his presence.

Once the floor was clean, he stood and poured a fresh glass of orange juice before returning the bottle to the fridge.

He extended his hand to me, and after a moment’s hesitation, I took it. He pulled me to my feet, and I crossed my arms defensively over my chest.

“What are you doing here, Ethan?” I asked, my voice laced with a mix of gratitude and irritation.

“Saving you, apparently. What were you doing on the floor?” he replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I spilled some juice, and I was cleaning it,” I murmured, knowing he could see right through my half-hearted excuse.

“I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re trying to pull one over on me, Judy.”

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