Chapter 157 Riley's POV

Chapter 157 Riley's POV
Willow Creek looks exactly the same.
The same rundown buildings. The same cracked sidewalks. The same sense of hopelessness that clings to everything like fog.
I haven't been back since the scholarship letter arrived. Since I packed everything I owned into one duffel bag and never looked back.
Now, sitting in Damien's car at the edge of town, I'm not sure I can do this.
"We can turn around," Damien says quietly, his hand finding mine. "You don't have to face him if you're not ready."
Through the bond, I feel his support. His willingness to leave right now if I ask, but I also feel his certainty that I need this. That closure, however painful, is worth pursuing.
"No," I say, taking a breath. "I need to do this. Before the ceremony. Before I officially become Luna. I need to close this door."
"Then I'm right beside you," Damien says.
We drive through town slowly. People stare, Damien's car is worth more than most houses here. I see recognition in some faces.
Riley Walker. The girl who left. The girl who thought she was too good for Willow Creek.
If they only knew the truth.
The trailer park is on the outskirts of town. Rows of rusting metal boxes that people call home. The same gravel driveway. The same dying grass. The same sense of decay.
And there, number forty-two. My childhood home.
It looks worse than I remember. The roof is sagging. One window is cracked and taped. The small porch is littered with bottles.
Through the mate bond, I feel Damien's shock. He knew I came from poverty, but seeing it is different.
"This is where you grew up," he says, and it's not a question.
"Home sweet home," I say bitterly.
We get out of the car, and I feel eyes watching from other trailers. People who remember me. Who watched me grow up poor and unwanted.
Damien stays close as we approach the door. Through the bond, I feel his protective fury at the conditions I survived, but he keeps it controlled. This is my confrontation.
I knock.
No answer.
I knock again, louder.
"Go away!" A voice from inside. Slurred. Drunk. My father's voice.
I haven't heard it in months, but it still makes something in my chest tighten.
"It's Riley," I call through the door. "Your daughter."
Silence. Then shuffling. The door opens a crack, and I see my father's face.
He looks worse than I remember. Thinner. More weathered. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair graying and unkempt.
He's wearing the same stained shirt he probably wore yesterday, and the day before that.
"Riley?" He squints at me like he can't quite believe it. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to talk," I say.
His eyes shift to Damien, and I see calculation. Suspicion.
"Who's this? Your boyfriend?"
"My mate," I correct. "Damien Blackthorn. Alpha heir of Silverwood Academy."
My father's expression shifts through several emotions. Disbelief. Suspicion, and finally, resentment.
"So you came back to show off," he says bitterly. "Got yourself some rich boy and wanted to rub it in my face."
"No," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I came to tell you I'm getting mated. Officially. In two days. I thought you should know."
"Why would I care?" my father asks, and the casual cruelty of it hits like a slap.
I feel Damien's rage building. But he stays silent, letting me handle this.
"Because I'm your daughter," I say. "Because despite everything, I thought you might want to know that I'm okay. That I survived. That I became something."
My father laughs. It's a harsh, bitter sound.
"Survived? You ran away. Took that scholarship and left me here to rot. Didn't even have the decency to say goodbye."
"You were passed out drunk," I say. "You'd been passed out drunk for three days. I left a note."
"A note," he repeats mockingly. "How thoughtful."
He opens the door wider, and I smell the alcohol radiating from him. The trailer interior is a disaster, with bottles everywhere, trash piled up, and the same chaos I remember.
"You want to come in?" he asks. "Show your rich boyfriend where you came from? The trailer park trash background you're so ashamed of?"
"I'm not ashamed of where I came from," I say firmly. "I'm ashamed of how you treated me. How you drank away every chance at something better. How you made me feel like a burden every single day of my life."
My father's face twists with anger.
"I kept a roof over your head. Fed you. Clothed you, and this is the thanks I get?"
"You did the bare minimum," I say, and I feel years of suppressed anger rising.
"You gave me food and shelter, but you never gave me love. Never told me I was worth something. Never once acted like you were glad I existed."
"Your mother died because of you," my father says, and the words are like poison. "She'd still be alive if…"
"If what?" I interrupt, my voice shaking. "If I hadn't been born? You think I don't know that? You think I haven't carried that guilt every single day?"
Tears are streaming down my face now, but I don't care.
"I know you look at me and see her death. I know you've spent eighteen years resenting my existence. But that's on you. Not me.
I didn't ask to be born. I didn't ask for her to die, and I sure as hell didn't ask for a father who drowned his grief in bottles instead of loving the daughter he had left."
My father stares at me, and for a moment I see something flicker in his expression. Pain, maybe. Or regret. But then it's gone, replaced by the familiar resentment.
"So you came here to yell at me," he says. "To blame me for everything wrong in your life. Fine. I'm a terrible father. Happy now?"
"No," I say quietly. "I came here for closure. To tell you that despite everything you did or didn't do, I survived.
I'm strong. I'm successful, and I'm about to become Luna of one of the most prestigious wolf packs in the country."
I take a breath.
"I came to show you what I became in spite of you and to tell you that I'm done. Done seeking your approval. Done carrying the weight of your grief. Done letting your neglect define me."
My father's jaw tightens. "So that's it? You're cutting me off?"
"I'm setting myself free," I correct. "You can keep living like this. Keep drowning in alcohol and resentment.
Or you can choose something different. But either way, it's not my responsibility anymore."
I reach into my pocket and pull out an envelope. Inside is an invitation to the mating ceremony and enough money to cover several months of expenses.
"This is an invitation," I say, holding it out. "If you want to come, if you want to see what I've become, you're welcome.
The ceremony is in two days at Silverwood Academy. But if you don't come, if you choose to stay here in your bitterness, I'll know, and I'll move forward without you."
My father takes the envelope with trembling hands. He opens it, sees the invitation, and sees the money.
"You're paying me to come to your wedding?" he asks bitterly.
"I'm giving you a choice," I correct. "Come sober. Come ready to be proud of your daughter. Or don't come at all. But this is the last time I'm reaching out.
After this, you're either in my life or you're not. Your decision."
I feel Damien's pride in me. His support. His love.
My father stares at the invitation, then at me, and for just a moment, I see the man he might have been. The father he could have been if grief hadn't consumed him.
"I don't know if I can," he says quietly, and it's the most honest he's been.
"Then that's your answer," I say gently. "And I'll accept it, but I needed to give you the chance. Not for you. For me. So I could walk away knowing I tried."
I turn to leave, Damien's hand finding mine immediately.
"Riley," my father calls, and I pause but don't turn back. "Your mother... she would have been proud of you. Of what you've become."
The words break something in my chest. The first kind thing he's said to me in years. Maybe ever.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Then I walk away.
Damien and I get in the car, and I don't look back. Don't watch to see if my father is still standing in the doorway. Don't wonder if he'll come to the ceremony, because it doesn't matter anymore.
I did what I came to do. Faced him. Said what I needed to say. Offered him a chance at being part of my life.
What he does with that chance is up to him.
Through the bond, Damien sends waves of love and support.
"You were amazing," he says as we drive away from Willow Creek. "Strong. Brave. Everything you needed to be."
"I feel like I'm going to throw up," I admit.
"That's normal," he says. "You just confronted years of pain. Give yourself time to process."
We drive in silence for a while, leaving Willow Creek behind, and with every mile, I feel the weight lifting.
I'm not that scared little girl anymore. Not the scholarship charity case. Not the burden my father resented.
I'm Riley Walker. Luna-designate. Survivor. Mate to the Alpha heir, and whether my father comes to the ceremony or not, whether he chooses to be part of my life or not…
I'm going to be okay. Better than okay.
I'm going to be exactly who I was meant to be.
Damien squeezes my hand. "Ready to go home?" he asks.
I realize, Silverwood is home. Not the trailer park. Not Willow Creek. Not anywhere in my past.
Home is where Damien is. Where the pack is. Where I'm accepted and loved and valued.
"Yeah," I say, smiling despite the tears still on my cheeks. "Let's go home."
As we drive toward Silverwood, toward the ceremony that will make me Luna officially, I feel free in a way I never have before.
The past is behind me. The future is ahead, and I'm finally, truly ready to embrace it.
My father's shadow no longer
hangs over me.
I belong to myself now, and that's worth more than any approval he could ever give.