b279 /bOld Wounds, Old bTruths /b

    Vander

    The cottage hadn’t bchanged/b. Time hadn’t touched it much. The same stone bpath/b, bthe /bsame bvine /bcovered walls if anything, it looked even more peaceful now. Like Katya and Lydia had poured love binto /bbthe /bce f looked like a home, not just a shelter.

    I bhad /bbought this cottage for Katya as a thank–you–back when I thought that was enough. I never bimagined /bshe’d live here. Not full–time. Not after her marriage fell apart. I didn’t even know her husband bhad /bbleft /bbher /buntil ourst trip to Neev. I couldn’t me him entirely–Katya could be difficult, controlling evenb–/bbbut /babandoning your family is inexcusable. No matter what.

    The door opened, and Lydia stood there, staring at us like we were ghosts.

    Her eyes went straight to Lucian, then to me. And just like that, the warmth of the cottage vanished. Her gaze was ice–resentment and angeryered deep. The kind that doesn’t fade with time.

    “Lydia,” Lucian said gently. “Please. Let us in.”

    For a moment, she hesitated. Then, without a word, she stepped aside and let us pass.

    The sitting room was just as I remembered–small, modest, neat. Lived–in, but not tired. We took our seats quietly.

    Lydia stood, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me. “What brings you here, Alpha Vander?” she asked, her voice cool, pointed.

    I didn’t rise to it. I smiled politely, choosing grace over pride. “I’m here to see your mother.”

    She shook her head, her jaw tight. “I don’t think-”

    “She’ll want to see him,” Lucian cut in, firm but respectful. His tone didn’t allow for argument.

    Lydia’s eyes flicked between us, weighing something behind them–pride, pain, maybe fear. She didn’t speak again, but the wall she’d put up started to crack, just a little.

    And that was enough–for now.

    “Lydia, please,” Lucian said, his voice low, steady. “We shouldn’t be here right now–not with everything going on. But we are. So let’s not drag this out. Let us get it over with.”

    I could see the conflict in Lydia’s eyes–pride warring with pain. She wanted to push us out, hold onto the grudge, keep the wound open. But eventually, she gave in with a sigh and wheeled her mother into the room.

    Katya looked older than I remembered. Smaller. Fragile in a way that twisted something in my chest. But the moment her eyes met mine, she broke. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and her hands began to moveb–/bsigning with urgency, with emotion that words would’ve failed to carry.

    Lydia froze beside her, stunned. It took her a moment to catch up, to begin tranting.

    “Mother wants you to know… she’s sorryi,” /iLydia said, her voice softer now, less guarded. “She misjudged you. She says she knows the truth now.i” /i

    I stood there, stunned, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. After all these years… she believed me.

    Katya bstoned /bagain, her hands trembling with the effort

    We saw the bbroadcast/b: bLydia /bcontinued, interpretingb, /bher voice steady now. And a home yel Natasha the bjustice /bthe bdeserves/b.

    I bstepped /bbforward /bbwithout /bhesitation band /bgently took Katya’s hand bin /bbmine/b. Her skin bwas /bbcold/bb, /bbbut /bhe cap

    bwas /bfirm.

    b“/bbI’m /bd you know the truthb,/bb” /bI said, my voice thick. “And I want you to hear it from me–I never bcheated /bbon /b

    your niece. Natasha meant bthe /bworld to meb./bb” /b

    bKatya /bnodded, her tears still falling. But there was peace in her eyes now. For the first timei, /ishe believed bme /b

    Fully.

    Martha’s confession had done more than clear my name–it had finally closed a wound that had bbeen /bbleft /bbleeding for far too long.

    And for that, I was grateful.

    There was nothing left to exin to Katya. The air between us had finally cleared. After years of

    misunderstanding and quiet resentment, we were at peace. That was enough.

    We shifted the conversation to whaty ahead–theing fight, and what mighte after it. bA /bfuture

    without ric. A future where our families could breathe again.

    Lucian, ever the steady one, insisted that Katya and Lydia move into the mansion. “You both need this,” he said firmly. “Katya deserves proper care, and Lydia deserves a life of her own–not one tethered to old pain and constant caregiving.”

    They didn’t argue. No protests. Just quiet nods and tired eptance. Maybe they’d carried the burden long enough and were finally ready to set it down.

    Before we left, Katya signed onest thing. Lydia interpreted with a calm detachment that didn’t quite hide

    the venom in the words.

    “She wants ric to die… slowly. In pain.”

    I looked Katya in the eyes and gave her a nod.

    “She’ll get her wish,” I said.”

    And I meant it.

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