CHAPTER TEN

Maya shifted in her seat, letting her head fall into the opposite palm as her elbow propped her up. The other arm had gone numb long ago from holding her head as she sat lost in her thoughts. It wasn't the first time she had replayed this cycle today—drifting through memories while her body remained still, her mind swirling with emotions and decisions she couldn't seem to escape.

Hours passed like this, and her thoughts followed the same path. She remembered her first days in La Push—how foreign it all felt at first, how different it was from the city life she left behind. Faces blurred together in her mind until certain people stood out: Seth with his boundless energy and kind heart, Emily's gentle guidance, Sam's quiet authority, and, of course, her fiercely protective cousin Embry. La Push had slowly become her home, a place where she had finally felt like she belonged.

That sense of belonging had been a stark contrast to the suffocating emptiness she had known in the city. Back there, she was constantly weighed down by her parents' expectations and their cold indifference. Yet, as painful as those memories were, a small part of her couldn't shake the lingering question—should she go back? Could things be different?

The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she knew she needed clarity. That's why she was here, sitting at the Clearwater house—not waiting for Seth, but for Leah. Unlike anyone else, Leah would tell her the brutal, unvarnished truth. There would be no sugar-coating, no polite reassurances. Maya didn't want comfort; she wanted honesty, even if it stung.

When Leah finally sat down, Maya took a deep breath and laid everything out—her parents' sudden interest in having her back, their promises of a better life, and the storm of indecision swirling inside her. She didn't even finish her last sentence before Leah's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"Why the hell are you even considering going back?" Leah snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of Maya's thoughts. "They treated you like garbage. They made you feel worthless. What kind of person willingly goes back to that kind of abuse?"

"See, I just thought maybe—"

"No." Leah raised a hand, silencing her before she could continue. "This is not one of those situations where you say, 'What if' or 'But maybe.' Stop making excuses. Here's how it works: you go back, and maybe things are fine at first. But one slip-up—one moment where they show their true colours again—and you're right back where you started. If you're already hesitant and second-guessing, that's a giant red flag. Are you happy here, in La Push?"

"Yes," Maya whispered.

"Are you happy with the people you've met?"

"Of course, I am."

"And are you happy being with my brother?"

Maya's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with the sudden offence. "Leah, of course I am! How could you even ask me that?"

"Then why," Leah said, her tone hardening, "are you even thinking about leaving? Why would you trade this—" she gestured vaguely to the house, the pack, the life Maya had built—"for people who've done nothing but hurt you? You have family here. People who love you more than your parents ever could. Blood doesn't always mean anything. Love, loyalty, choice—those are what matter. And you've got that here, with Embry, with Seth, and with all of us."

Maya's chest tightened. She hadn't realized just how much she needed to hear those words. "Thank you, Leah," she murmured softly.

Leah shrugged as if it didn't matter, though her sharp gaze stayed locked on Maya. "Don't thank me until the idea of leaving is completely out of your head," she muttered. "Because if I catch even a hint of doubt again, I'll drag you back here myself."

Maya sat there, her mind a whirlwind of tangled thoughts as Leah's words echoed in her head. The older woman's bluntness had hit its mark, the truth cutting straight to the core of her conflict. Yet instead of clarity, it left a churning pit of uncertainty deep within her. She rested her chin on her palm again, fingers digging into her cheek as she stared blankly at the worn wooden floor.

"Leah," she began quietly, her voice hesitant, "I hear what you're saying. I really do. But... I can't shake the feeling that I need to see this through. I have to know if they've changed, or if they ever could."

Leah's eyes narrowed. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, a wall of defiance and irritation building around her. "You don't need anything from them," she said flatly. "What you need is already here. You're chasing a fantasy, Maya. A lie. They're not going to give you what you're hoping for. They never have, and they never will."

"But what if they do?" Maya whispered. She hated how desperate she sounded, but the question burned inside her. "What if this time, it's different?"

Leah sighed deeply, a sound full of frustration and weariness. "And what if it's not? What if you go back, and they treat you the same way they always have? What if they break you all over again?"

"I'm stronger now," Maya countered, though even to her own ears, it sounded like a weak defence. "I've learned so much here. I've grown. I know who I am now. If I go and it turns out to be the same... at least I'll have tried. At least I won't spend my whole life wondering."

Leah's expression shifted, a flicker of something softer passing across her face before her features hardened again. "It's not about wondering," she said firmly. "It's about protecting yourself. It's about not letting people who don't deserve you keep dragging you down. You don't owe them anything, Maya. Not your time. Not your love. Not your hope."

Maya swallowed, her throat tight with unshed tears. She clenched her fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. "I'm going," she said finally, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "I have to. If I don't, I'll always feel like I ran away. Like I didn't even try."

Leah's eyes burned with a fierce intensity as she stood abruptly. "Fine," she snapped. "Go. But don't come crying to me when they prove me right. And don't expect me to pick up the pieces when they hurt you again."

Maya flinched, the words hitting her like a slap. "I'm not asking for that," she replied softly. "I'm not asking for anything. I just need to do this... for me."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Leah's jaw tightened, her gaze sharp and unyielding as she stared at Maya. Finally, she exhaled sharply and shook her head. "You're a fool," she muttered.

Maya managed a small, sad smile. "Probably."

Leah didn't respond. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Maya sat there alone, the quiet pressing in around her. She felt the weight of her decision settle on her shoulders, heavy and unrelenting. But even as the ache of doubt gnawed at her, she also felt a spark of resolve deep within.

This wasn't about hope or redemption. It wasn't about proving anyone wrong or finding the family she'd always dreamed of. It was about finding answers, even if they hurt. And she was willing to face the pain if it meant finally putting the ghosts of her past to rest.

...

The door to Maya's room clicked softly behind her as she stepped inside, the silence of the small space wrapping around her like a heavy blanket. She leaned back against the door, her head tipping against the cool wood, and let out a slow, shuddering breath. Her thoughts, so loud and tangled, felt like a swarm of voices whispering all at once, each one pulling her in a different direction.

She crossed the room, her feet moving on instinct rather than purpose, and sank onto the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, and she folded her arms around herself, gripping her elbows as though she could hold her emotions in place. The light in the room was soft and dim, the glow of the lamp on her nightstand casting long shadows on the walls.

Her eyes drifted to the worn, dog-eared notebook resting on the corner of her desk. She remembered the day Seth had given it to her. It had been a silly gesture, really — he'd scrawled "For all your brilliant ideas and weird thoughts" on the inside cover with a grin that stretched wide across his face. He'd laughed when she smacked his arm for calling her thoughts weird, but there had been a warmth in his eyes, a quiet understanding that made her feel seen.

She reached for it now, her fingers brushing the familiar, frayed edges as she pulled it onto her lap. She flipped through the pages, each filled with scribbled notes and half-formed dreams. Drawings of flowers and wolves in the margins. Little moments of happiness, were written down so she wouldn't forget them.

And then there were the darker pages, too — the ones she hadn't shown anyone. The words she'd written late at night when the weight of everything had been too much when the pain of her past had pressed against her chest like a stone. She traced her finger over a line she'd written months ago: "I want to believe people can change. I need to believe it."

Her throat tightened as she stared at the words. It wasn't just about her parents. It never had been. It was about her need to find meaning in the hurt, to believe that love wasn't a trap, that family didn't have to be a cage. But believing didn't make it true. Believing didn't erase what had already happened.

She closed the notebook, hugging it to her chest as her gaze lifted to the small window across from her bed. Outside, the moon hung high in the sky, its light pale and distant. She remembered nights like this when she was younger, sitting alone in her room in the city, staring out at the same moon and wishing for a way out. A way to feel free.

And now, here she was — free, loved, a part of something bigger than herself. Yet a piece of her still felt trapped. Still felt like that scared little girl, desperate for approval she would never get.

Her mind raced back to Leah's words: "You have family here. People who love you. Why isn't that enough?"

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Why wasn't it enough?

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, fighting back the tears, willing the storm inside her to calm. The truth was simple. She wasn't going back because she believed in her parents. She wasn't going back because she thought they had changed. She was going back because some part of her needed to say goodbye to the hope she had clung to for so long. She needed to walk through the fire one last time to know she could survive it.

The thought didn't bring her peace, but it brought clarity. And that was something.

The clarity settled into Maya like a thin layer of frost, cold but grounding, a sharp edge that wouldn't melt easily. She stared at the moon a moment longer before pushing herself to her feet, letting the notebook fall back onto her bed. Her limbs felt heavy, her heart heavier still, but her resolve carried her forward.

She paced the length of her room, her bare feet making soft thuds against the wooden floor, each step a beat in the rhythm of her spiralling thoughts. Her fingers trailed along the spines of her books, brushing over the souvenirs of the life she had built here. A life that had felt safe. A life that had made her believe she could be whole.

Her eyes fell on a picture frame sitting on her dresser. It was a candid shot from last summer — Seth with his arm slung over her shoulder, both of them laughing so hard that her face was half-hidden by the curtain of her hair. Embry was just behind them, mid-eye-roll, pretending to be annoyed but smiling all the same. She felt a pang in her chest as she stared at it. This was home.

But home didn't erase the echoes of the past. It didn't silence the questions she carried.

She crossed to the window, leaning her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging up the pane. The trees outside rustled gently in the wind, their branches dancing in the dark. Somewhere out there, Seth was probably asleep, unaware of the war raging inside her. And Embry... God, he was going to hate this.

Her hand clenched into a fist against the windowsill. She could already see the look on his face — that mixture of frustration and fear, the fierce protectiveness that never seemed to dim. He would argue. He would try to stop her. He would remind her of everything she had just told Leah, of every reason why staying made sense and leaving was madness.

And maybe he would be right.

But it wasn't his choice to make.

Maya closed her eyes, drawing a deep, steadying breath. She felt the ache of her decision settle in her bones, heavy and unavoidable, but she didn't waver.

"I have to do this," she whispered to the empty room. The words hung in the air, fragile but firm. "I have to know."

She turned away from the window and sank back onto her bed, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating for a long, painful moment before she typed a message to Embry:

"I need to talk to you. Please don't be mad."

Her thumb hovered over the send button.

And then, with a breath, she pressed it.