A Luna's Broken Heart

Chapter 4: Happy?

-Selene-

I decided to wait until the next day to visit our new resident. Isabella had been there to greet her and ensure she was settled in before I went to see her. She was placed in the wing for abused mates, even though we didn’t know her full story.

I thought it best to put her there, as it was a space designated for females only, with strict rules preventing any males from entering or getting close. I hoped she would feel a bit more comfortable by the time I visited, and perhaps then she would be willing to share more about what had happened to her and why.

As I arrived and parked my car, I walked inside, only for a little girl to come running towards me.

“Miss Selene!” she called, hugging my legs tightly.

My heart warmed at the gesture, but it was soon overshadowed by a pang of sadness. I would never have a daughter of my own to give me hugs like that. I tried to push those thoughts aside as I crouched down to look at her. She had flour smeared across her face, and I gently wiped it away with my fingers.

“I hope you’re not burning down the kitchen,” I said with a smile.

The girl laughed and shook her head. “We’re baking cookies. Won’t you join us?” she asked eagerly.

Her mother, one of our long-term residents who had done an impressive job reclaiming her life and power, came outside and called for her daughter.

“I’m sure Selene has a lot of work to do, Sara,” her mother said, giving me a soft smile.

“Pleeeeease, come bake cookies with us,” Sara begged, clinging to my arm.

“Sara!” her mother called.

“It’s fine,” I said to her mother, then turned to Sara. “I’ll come a little later. First, I need to check on someone who just moved in.”

“Someone else has moved in?” Sara inquired, her eyes widening with curiosity.

“Yes, and I need to check on her,” I confirmed.

“Is she okay?” Sara asked, her eyes suddenly filled with concern.

I hated seeing that look in such a young child. Sara had just turned seven and had already endured so much hatred and cruelty.

“I hope so. I’m going to see her now, and we’ll figure out if she is,” I said before rising to my feet. “Now go bake some cookies, and I’ll join you later.”

Sara nodded and, with her mother, headed towards the kitchen. I turned towards the stairs and walked up to the next floor. Finding the new resident’s room was easy. Isabella had given me clear directions and included them in her file. The door was ajar, so I knocked gently.

A young woman with light brown hair and green eyes turned around. She was very thin, with pale skin, and wore an oversized t-shirt and grey sweats—clothes we had provided. She looked a bit sweaty, as if even turning around was an effort, but there was a smile on her lips. She looked... happy?

No one in this place ever looked happy. None of the residents, in either wing, ever wore a smile. They were broken, carrying immense pain, and had no reason to smile. Yet this woman did. Her eyes even sparkled as she looked at me.

“Cecilia?” I asked.

The woman nodded. “That’s me. You must be Selene. Isabella told me you would come and talk to me today,” she said, and, with some effort, walked forward and extended her hand. “Sorry, I’m still recovering and not very quick.”

I was taken aback. She was the one initiating contact! I stared at Cecilia’s outstretched hand before realizing I needed to take it. I grasped her hand and gave it a light shake.

“I’m surprising you, aren’t I?” she inquired, her smile unwavering.

I nodded. She was. She absolutely was!

“Most people here... when they first arrive, they don’t... they aren’t comfortable with being touched,” I said.

“I can imagine,” Cecilia replied. “I bet they don’t smile either.”

I shook my head.

“Well, come inside! Don’t just stand there,” Cecilia said.

I followed her inside. We made our way to her bed, where she sat down with noticeable effort, as though she were an elderly woman trying to find a comfortable position. It took her a moment to settle properly and look at me.

“Now,” she began, “I’m guessing you’re here to hear my ‘story’.”

“You’re not obligated to tell me anything, just so you know,” I said gently. “I only want to know if there’s someone I should contact or maybe give a call.”

“But know that everything you share with me will remain confidential. What’s said in this room stays in this room,” I assured her. She didn’t seem to need this reassurance, but I felt it was important to offer.

“I don’t care what you do with what I tell you. I plan to leave soon.”

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just happy to know I can go wherever I want.”

“You couldn’t do that before?” I asked, puzzled.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

A silence fell between us. I waited for her to continue, not wanting to pressure her, but sensing she had more to say. When she didn’t speak, I repeated, “Is there anyone I should call for you? Or would you like to call them yourself?”

Her green eyes were filled with sincerity as she shook her head. “There is only me now.”

“Now?” I echoed, unsure.

She lifted her hand and started biting her nails, seeming anxious. I worried I might have triggered something in her, but then she began to smile. Her smile soon turned into soft laughter. I was taken aback, wondering why she was laughing.

When she noticed my confused expression, she stopped, removed her hand, and said, “Sorry, I must look like a crazy person, laughing out of the blue. I’m just so… happy!”

“I can see that,” I said, still puzzled by her reaction.

“When you asked if I had someone you could call, and I said no, it just made me realize there really wasn’t anyone for you to call, and that made me happy.”

“It made you happy not to have anyone to call?”

“I know how that must sound, but yes. It did!”

For a moment, I wondered if she was truly unhinged, but then I reminded myself I didn’t know her entire story. Perhaps she had escaped an abusive relationship or lost someone who had caused her pain.

“Well, I’ll let you get some more rest then. Your doctor mentioned it’s important for you to have plenty of rest and food to aid your recovery,” I said, rising from the bed.

“You don’t want to ask me about my story?” she asked, looking puzzled.

“I told you, you don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s your story. You can choose to tell it to me, to someone else, or not at all. It’s up to you.”

She offered a sweet smile, but as I turned to leave, she grasped my hand. With my support, she slowly stood up from the bed.

“What are you doing? You should stay in bed,” I said, concerned, tightening my grip on her hand as she attempted to rise.

She exhaled deeply, finally standing on her own. Her green eyes locked onto mine, deep and serious. I wondered what she was about to say, but instead of speaking, she reached out and gently brushed aside the side of my blazer, exposing my shoulder.

The white shirt was slightly see-through, revealing a mark that was a painful reminder of a past I was trying to forget. I stared at Cecilia, feeling alarmed, and then quickly pulled back, covering myself.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” she said softly.

I looked at her in confusion.

“When they mark you and then cast you aside for someone else.” The cheerful demeanor I had seen moments ago had vanished, replaced by a somber, intense expression. Her gaze remained fixed on my shoulder, even though it was covered, before she turned her green eyes back to me. They looked like glass, as if there were no emotions behind them.

“I think you’ll want to hear my story,” she said.