Read Novel Full Chapter 738: AND WHEN THERE IS A WILL, THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY.
Chapter 738: AND WHEN THERE IS A WILL, THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY.
I didn’t know what to do.
Mother wasn’t supposed to cry.
She was the person who fixed things.
The person who always knew what to do.
The person who stayed calm when everyone else fell apart.
Yet here she was.
Shaking in my arms.
Crying so hard she could barely breathe.
And for the first time since I was a little girl, I felt afraid.
Truly afraid.
Because if Mother didn’t know how to save us…
Then perhaps nobody did.
I tightened my arms around her.
“It’s going to be alright.” I whispered.
The words sounded empty.
Even to me.
Mother gave a broken laugh.
“No, darling.”
My heart shattered.
She had never spoken like that before.
Never.
Not once in my entire life.
Mother had always believed there was a solution.
Always.
Yet now she looked exhausted.
Defeated.
As though she had been fighting some invisible battle for years and had finally run out of strength.
Slowly her crying eased.
She pulled away from me and wiped at her face.
Immediately trying to compose herself.
Trying to become Mother again.
The strong version.
The version that held everything together.
But I had already seen the cracks.
And now I couldn’t unsee them.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered.
I frowned.
“Why are you apologizing?”
She looked away.
For a moment she seemed unable to answer.
Then she forced a small smile.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about these things.”
“But I do.”
The smile faltered.
“I know.”
Silence settled between us.
The fire crackled softly.
Outside the evening wind brushed against the cottage walls.
Everything looked normal.
Everything felt normal.
Yet somehow nothing was.
Mother slowly rose from the chair.
Her movements seemed older somehow.
More tired.
She walked over to the window and stared outside.
I followed her gaze.
The garden.
Our garden.
The herbs she had spent years growing.
The flowers.
The old oak tree.
The wooden fence Father built before his accident.
Every memory I loved existed there.
And in three days…
It might belong to someone else.
I felt tears sting my eyes.
“No.”
Mother turned.
I shook my head stubbornly.
“No.”
“Ruby-
“We’re not losing this house.”
My voice cracked.
“We can’t.”
Mother’s expression softened.
“Oh darling.”
“We just can’t.”
She crossed the room and cupped my face.
For a moment I thought she might cry again.
Instead she kissed my forehead.
“We’ll figure something out.”
It was the same thing she always said.
The difference was that this time she didn’t sound like she believed it.
Night eventually fell.
Neither of us spoke much during supper.
There wasn’t much appetite left in either of us.
Father never returned.
Not that night.
Not before midnight.
Not even after.
And although I hated him for what he’d done…
A small part of me still worried.
Because despite everything…
He was still my father.
The next morning arrived far too quickly.
I woke to the sound of movement downstairs.
For one brief moment I forgot.
Then everything came rushing back.
The debt.
The collectors.
The house.
Mother.
I climbed out of bed and made my way downstairs.
Mother was already awake.
Of course she was.
She stood at the table sorting through herbs.
Bundles and bundles of them.
More than usual.
Far more.
I frowned.
“What are you doing?”
She glanced up.
A tired smile touched her lips.
“Working.”
My eyes narrowed.
At the table sat three packed satchels.
Not one.
Three.
Enough supplies to last weeks.
My stomach twisted.
Something about that felt wrong.
As though she were preparing for a journey.
As though she expected to leave.
Before I could ask another question—
A knock sounded at the front door.
Mother froze.
So did I.
We looked at one another.
Another knock followed.
Louder this time.
My heart immediately dropped.
The debt collectors.
Already?
Mother took a steadying breath and walked toward the door.
I followed closely behind.
The moment she opened it, both of us froze.
Standing outside wasn’t one of the collectors.
It was Martha.
And judging by the look on her face…
Something was terribly wrong.
❧
The moment Mother opened the door, both of us froze.
“Martha?”
The head chef looked exhausted.
Her hair was barely pinned up.
Her apron was wrinkled.
And she looked as though she had run the entire way here.
“Penelope.” Martha breathed.
Mother immediately stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Martha entered quickly.
The moment she crossed the doorway she looked around.
Almost as though making sure nobody had followed her.
My stomach twisted.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
“Martha?” Mother asked. “What happened?”
The older woman hesitated.
Then she looked directly at Mother.
“I need your help.”
Mother frowned.
“My help?”
“It’s the Alpha’s son.”
The room went silent.
I blinked.
“The Alpha’s son?” I repeated.
Martha nodded.
Mother looked equally confused.
“The Alpha’s son is here?”
That was news to both of us.
The Alpha never visited our territory.
Never.
The entire pack knew that.
He governed dozens of territories.
Places far richer and more important than ours.
Why would his son suddenly be here?
Martha nodded.
“He arrived several days ago.”
My heart skipped.
Several days ago?
That would explain all the extra guards.
The activity.
The crowds at the Pack House.
I had thought something unusual was happening.
I simply hadn’t realized it was that unusual.
“What happened?” Mother asked.
Martha looked troubled.
“Nobody knows.”
A strange chill moved through me.
“What do you mean nobody knows?” I asked.
“He collapsed.”
Mother stiffened.
“Collapsed?”
Martha nodded.
“We don’t know what happened. He just fell.
“He has a fever that won’t break.”
Martha continued.
“The physicians can’t explain it.”
Mother folded her arms.
“And why come to me?”
Martha laughed bitterly.
“Because every healer they’ve brought in has failed.”
The room grew quiet.
Mother seemed thoughtful.
Very thoughtful.
“Martha…”
The older woman stepped forward.
“Penelope, listen to me.”
Her voice softened.
“They are desperate.”
Mother’s expression remained guarded.
“They are offering anything.”
My heart sank.
I already knew where this conversation was heading.
Martha looked around the cottage.
The worn furniture.
The aging walls.
The herbs drying from the rafters.
The home we might lose in three days.
Then she looked back at Mother.
“If you help him…”
She paused.
“They’ll pay well.”
The room went completely silent.
I felt my breath catch.
Mother froze.
Martha wasn’t finished.
“And if you choose…”
She swallowed.
“The Pack House still has a position waiting for you.”
I slowly looked toward Mother.
Mother looked toward the floor.
For the first time since the debt collectors had left…
I saw hesitation.
Real hesitation.
The offer she’d refused for years.
The offer she’d never once considered.
Suddenly…
It didn’t seem impossible anymore.