Chapter 21: The Final Chapter of Waiting

After Gavin's succession ceremony, I returned to Highmoor with a strange sense of peace.

The last place that had once held a promise of marriage was finally behind me.

I thought that would be the end of my connection to the Redoak Pack.

I was wrong.

A month later, a formal letter arrived from Gavin.

This time, it wasn't an invitation or an apology.

It was a request from the Redoak Pack for Highmoor's assistance in establishing a new peace and relief division.

Gavin had chosen to model it after the administration I had built.

Princess Helena read the proposal and smiled.

“Your work is spreading.”

I looked at the documents.

“Then perhaps it was worth all those sleepless nights.”

She laughed.

“It was worth much more than that.”

I agreed to send a team of specialists from Highmoor.

I would oversee the first stage remotely.

That evening, I received another message from Gavin.

“Thank you for agreeing to help.”

I replied simply, “You're welcome.”

There was a long pause before another message appeared.

“Celia, I want to ask you something, but I won't if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I stared at the screen.

“Ask.”

“Do you ever think about what our life would have been like if I had married you six years ago?”

I didn't answer immediately.

I had wondered about that many times when I was younger.

I had imagined a house, children, a Pack, and a life beside him.

But those dreams belonged to a girl who believed love meant waiting.

I finally typed my answer.

“Sometimes.”

His response came quickly.

“And?”

I looked out the window at the mountains.

“I think we might have been happy for a while.”

“But eventually, I would have realized that I was still waiting for you to choose me.”

There was no response for several minutes.

Then Gavin wrote, “You're right.”

I closed the conversation.

That was the final tie to the past.

Not because Gavin had stopped caring.

Not because I had forgotten everything.

But because we finally understood each other without needing anything from one another.

The following morning, I walked through the Highmoor archives.

Three years ago, I had entered these halls as a broken young woman trying to escape humiliation.

Now I walked through them as the director of an institution that served thousands of people.

I stopped before the old service registry.

My name was still there.

Celia Langford.

Three-year national peace service.

I touched the page gently.

I had entered Highmoor believing I was giving up three years of my life.

Instead, those three years had given me my life back.

I closed the registry and smiled.

There was nothing left to wait for.