The realization hit Klara like a cold, sharp wind as she sat alone in the dim light of the living room. It had been a week since her life shattered, a week since she discovered Dominic’s betrayal, and she had stopped calling him. No nightly calls to hear his voice, no cheerful video chats where Sierra would wave excitedly and chatter about her day. She had thought, hoped, maybe even feared, that Dominic would notice the silence.
But he hadn’t called. Not even once.
Klara wrapped her arms around herself, the weight of the truth settling heavily on her shoulders. She had always been the one to reach out. Always the one to keep their connection alive, to make sure Sierra felt like she had a father, even if he was far away. She had done it for love. For their bond. For the family she believed they had built together.
But now, she saw it for what it was. One-sided. Fragile. A house of cards built on her effort, her devotion, her hope that he cared as much as she did.
Her throat tightened as she remembered all the times she’d stayed up late, waiting for him to answer a call, only for it to go to voicemail. The times she had brushed off his distracted responses, telling herself he was busy, that his work was important. She had convinced herself it didn’t mean he loved her any less.
And now, here she was. Silent. Waiting. Hoping, against all logic, that he would call. That he would realize her absence and care enough to wonder why.
But he didn’t.
Klara’s hands trembled as she stared at her phone, lying untouched on the coffee table. She could feel the urge rising again, the familiar pull to dial his number. To hear his voice. To fill the void that his silence had left. But she resisted. She clenched her fists and forced herself to look away.
She had already made the decision to reconnect with her mentor and after a couple of calls a meeting is scheduled after she drops Sierra in her nursery. she needed to take control of her life.
As the morning comes she drops Sierra in her nursery then heads over to her mentor's house.
The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of candles flickering against the worn wooden walls. Klara stood in the center, her hands trembling as she adjusted the small, polished mirror on the altar before her. The air was heavy with the scent of dried lavender and sage, a sharp contrast to the cold doubt settling in her chest. It had been years since she had attempted anything beyond the simplest spells—protection wards, small healing charms, and minor enchantments to make life easier. Tonight, though, she was here to go deeper, to remember what it meant to wield her magic fully.
The decision to visit her old mentor hadn’t come easily. For years, Klara had told herself she didn’t need guidance, that her life as a mate and mother was fulfilling enough. But now, standing in this small room at the back of an ancient magical shop tucked into a quiet London street, she couldn’t deny the truth: she was lost. And she needed to find herself again.
“You’re here,” a soft, steady voice said behind her. Klara turned to see Isolde, her mentor from her early days as a witch. The older woman’s silver hair glimmered in the candlelight, and her piercing green eyes held a kindness that Klara hadn’t realized she craved until now.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” Klara admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Isolde’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You don’t forget a flame once you’ve seen it burn. You had such potential, Klara. I always wondered why you stopped coming.”
Klara swallowed hard, guilt and regret mingling with the remnants of her pain. “Life… happened. I thought I didn’t need this anymore. But now…” Her words faltered, and she looked down, ashamed of the tears threatening to spill.
Isolde stepped closer, her hand gentle on Klara’s shoulder. “You’ve carried a heavy burden. But magic doesn’t leave you, Klara. It waits. And it’s time you let it back in.”
Klara nodded, unable to speak as the emotions clawed at her throat. She turned back to the altar, her reflection wavering in the polished mirror. Isolde handed her a small silver knife, its blade etched with intricate runes.
“This is a ritual of clarity,” Isolde explained. “It won’t fix what’s broken, but it will reveal the truths you’ve buried. Are you ready?”
Klara hesitated, gripping the knife tightly. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. The truth terrified her. But the thought of remaining in the limbo of pain and confusion terrified her more.
“I’m ready,” she said, her voice steadying.
Isolde nodded and stepped back, allowing Klara the space to begin. Klara followed the instructions, drawing a thin line of blood across her palm and pressing it to the mirror. The runes etched into its edges began to glow faintly, and the room seemed to hum with energy. Her reflection shifted, the edges blurring, until she saw herself not as she was now, but as she had once been—a younger, more vibrant version of herself, unburdened by betrayal and loss.
“You were never just a mate, Klara,” the reflection said, its voice echoing in the small room. “You gave too much and forgot who you were. But you can reclaim it. You must reclaim it.”
Tears spilled freely down Klara’s face as she stared at the image. The younger version of herself raised a hand, pressing it to the glass. “You are stronger than you believe,” it whispered.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The glow faded, and the mirror returned to its polished stillness. Klara exhaled shakily, wiping her tears. Her hands stopped trembling as she looked at Isolde, who gave her a proud nod.
“That was only the beginning,” Isolde said. “Your magic is still strong, Klara. You’ve simply forgotten how to trust it—and yourself.”
-----------
The days slipped by like a blur of muted colors. Klara found herself moving through her routine on autopilot—taking Sierra to her nursery and back, tending to her magical garden, and occasionally finding solace in the small charms she created. But every so often, her gaze would linger on her phone, sitting idle on the counter. The silence was deafening.
For years, her calls had been the bridge between their lives. She had been the one to initiate every conversation, ensuring Sierra felt connected to her father. But now, a week had passed, and Dominic hadn’t called. Not even once. The ache in her chest deepened every day, a silent reminder of how one-sided their bond had always been.
On the tenth day, her phone finally buzzed. Klara froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was. For a moment, she stared at the phone, her fingers hovering over the screen as conflicting emotions surged within her.
Relief. Anger. Pain.
Her first instinct was to ignore it. She let it ring until the sound stopped, and her phone went silent again. But moments later, it buzzed once more. This time, she answered, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside her.
“Hello?”
“Klara,” Dominic’s voice came through the line, deep and smooth as always. But there was no urgency, no hint that he had noticed her absence beyond a vague curiosity. “It’s been a while since you called. Is everything all right?”
Her stomach dropped. That was the first thing he had to say? No concern, no acknowledgment of the silence she’d maintained for the first time in their relationship. Just an indifferent question, as if she were the one who owed him an explanation.
“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Sierra is fine.”
There was a pause. Dominic’s silence was filled with a strange awkwardness, but not the kind Klara had hoped for. “Good. I’ve been busy with work. I figured you might have been too.”
Her grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles whitening as the sting of his ignorance cut deep. After everything—after the betrayal she had witnessed, after the pain of his continued absence—this was all he had to say? No apology for not calling. No concern for why she hadn’t reached out. Nothing but the same detached nonchalance that had always left her feeling like she wasn’t enough.
“I see,” she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to remain composed.
“Klara, is something wrong?” Dominic asked finally, his tone shifting slightly, though it still lacked the depth she longed for.
The question broke something inside her. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him everything she had seen and felt. But instead, her voice came out quiet and broken. “You didn’t notice, did you? That I hadn’t called. That I stopped…”
Another long pause. “I… assumed you were busy,” he said slowly, as if trying to piece together why this mattered. “You’ve always been good at keeping things steady on your end.”
The words crushed her. He didn’t realize it. He didn’t even realize what he had done—what he had failed to do. All the effort, the love, the constant devotion she had poured into their relationship had been met with complacency, taken for granted as something he didn’t need to think about.
“I have to go,” Klara said abruptly, her voice trembling but firm enough to signal the end of the conversation.
“Klara, wait—”
She hung up before he could finish. The tears came before she could stop them, hot and relentless as they streamed down her face. She pressed her palms to her eyes, her breath hitching as she tried to steady herself.
It wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt anymore—it was the realization that Dominic’s neglect had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. And she had let herself ignore it, believing that one day he would see her the way she had always seen him. But he hadn’t. He didn’t.
Klara set the phone down, her hands shaking. She would not call him back. She would not explain herself. The silence he had taken for granted would continue—this time, on her terms.
-----
Later that evening, Klara sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the small pile of toys Sierra had scattered across the floor earlier. The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep from unraveling entirely. Dominic’s indifference replayed in her mind like a cruel echo.
Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. When she saw Anya’s name on the screen, a fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, then answered.
“Klara?” Anya’s voice was warm and steady, filled with concern. “I was just thinking about you. How are you holding up?”
Klara exhaled shakily, her voice cracking. “Not great.”
“I figured.” There was a pause, and Klara could hear Anya shifting on the other end of the line. “Did something happen?”
“He called today,” Klara whispered, the words tasting bitter in her mouth.
Anya’s sharp intake of breath was followed by a pause. “And?”
Klara’s laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “And… nothing. He didn’t even notice. He asked if I was fine, assumed I was busy, and that was it. He didn’t care, Anya. Not about why I hadn’t called, not about what I might be feeling.”
“Oh, Klara,” Anya said, her voice softening. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe him. I don’t even have words for how much I want to knock some sense into my idiot brother.”
Klara bit her lip, trying to steady her trembling voice. “It’s not just about what he did. It’s… everything. I think I’ve been fooling myself for years. I thought… I thought he cared more than this. That I mattered more.”
“You do matter, Klara,” Anya said firmly. “To me, to Sierra, to yourself. I know it’s hard, but you have to stop tying your worth to his attention—or lack of it. My brother has been blind to what he has, and that’s his failure, not yours.”
The reassurance was like a balm, easing the raw ache in Klara’s chest. “I just… I don’t know how to move forward. I feel so… lost.”
Anya’s voice softened, but there was a fire behind her words. “You take it one day at a time, Klara. You’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone in this. I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”
The sincerity in her words broke through Klara’s defenses. The tears spilled freely again, but this time, they felt different—like a release, rather than a collapse. “Thank you, Anya,” she whispered.
“Always,” Anya replied. “In fact, I’ve decided to stay in London for a while. You and Sierra need someone here, and I’m not about to leave you to deal with this on your own.”
Klara blinked in surprise. “Anya, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” Anya interrupted firmly. “You’re my family, Klara. You’ve been there for Dominic and Sierra, giving them everything you had. It’s about time someone gave you something in return. Let me be here for you.”
Klara swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Besides,” Anya added with a wry edge to her tone, “I might stick around just to remind my brother how badly he’s screwed up.”
Despite herself, Klara laughed—a weak, shaky sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “That might be worth it.”
“Good,” Anya said. “Now, take tonight to rest. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what you need, even if it’s just someone to yell at for a while. Whatever it is, Klara, I’m here.”
