Epilogue

Arya. The sterile scent of antiseptic invaded my senses, mingling with the faint aroma of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Each contraction wrung another cry from my lips, echoes of pain reverberating through the small delivery room. Beads of perspiration dotted my brow, trailing down in rivulets, soaking the pristine hospital gown clinging to my skin. I clenched my teeth, trying to suppress the primal urge to scream, to let loose the agony building within me. Four agonizing months had passed since the attack from Robert and Alison. Four months of crazy cravings and the annoying effects of pregnancy. "Push, Luna," one of the nurses urged, her voice a distant echo amidst the chaos. "Just one more to go. You're almost there." Who was almost where? I mused sarcastically, a faint thread of amusement weaving through the haze of pain. If only I could muster the strength to voice the question aloud. But all that escaped my lips were guttural cries, primal and raw, torn from the depth