The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 482: She Remembered

[Draven].

Dennis and I stepped inside and shut the door behind us.

Mother was sitting at the edge of her bed, a book open in her lap. Her eyes lifted slowly—dark, soft, and confused.

The confusion deepened the longer she stared at us, as if her mind was trying and failing to arrange pieces of a puzzle.

She still looked impossibly young—pale, smooth skin, with not a wrinkle in sight. She had barely aged a day.

Sometimes I wondered if it was a blessing or something far darker woven into her bones.

"Mother," I said quietly.

Her head jerked slightly, as if the sound of my voice snapped something into place. She shut the book immediately and stood, her steps quick and unsteady as she came toward me.

"Draven?" she whispered.

I stiffened. She had recognized me earlier than usual, only by my voice, which was a big surprise and improvement.

"Yes," I answered.

She touched my cheeks with trembling fingers, then wrapped her arms around my torso. I held her gently, careful not to startle her.

When she finally pulled back, her gaze slid past me to Dennis. And the moment shattered.

Her brows drew together in confusion. "Draven... who is he?"

Behind me, Dennis inhaled sharply. I felt it in the air, the tension that seized him like a blow. But I quickly tried to smooth the atmosphere.

"This is your second son," I said evenly. "Dennis."

Immediately, her expression hardened. She shook her head, frowning. "I only have a daughter and one son."

Dennis looked away, his jaw clenched so tight I could feel the anger rolling off him. And just then, he moved, ready to leave the room, but I reached back quickly and caught his wrist.

I wasn’t letting him leave just like that, without even a try.

"No," I told her gently. "You had another son after me."

I didn’t say "before your illness consumed you," as it would only ignite the storm I was trying not to raise.

Her eyes flicked between us—confused, searching, unravelling. "Really?" she whispered.

I nodded once.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she stepped away from me and approached Dennis. Her posture was unsure, fragile—like she was approaching a stranger she wasn’t certain she wanted to know.

Then, she stopped in front of him, looking up at his face as if something might click into place. And Dennis... He stood perfectly still.

But I could feel everything—anger, hurt, and longing clashing inside him like a war he couldn’t control.

Finally, Mother’s fingers brushed his cheeks—slow, searching, as if she were digging through memories she no longer possessed.

Her brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she peered into him. Then she said quietly, "He looks so much like that man."

My jaw twitched. ’I also look like Father.’

But before I could say anything, she pulled her hands away abruptly. Her expression twisted with confusion, then frustration.

"How come I can’t feel it?" she murmured, voice cracking at the edges.

A warning curled down my spine. "Feel what, Mother?" I asked carefully.

She shook her head—first once, then more violently, the agitation rising like a wave I knew far too well.

Her gaze snapped to mine. "I can’t feel it."

And then she broke.

Her eyes sharpened, anger replacing the softness from earlier. She lifted a trembling finger and stabbed it in my direction.

"You are just like your father." Her voice climbed. "A fraudster—always lying, always trying to deceive me."

Beside me, Dennis scoffed under his breath, but I squeezed his hand sharply. Now wasn’t the time for that kind of reaction.

"Mother," I said steadily, "I’m not lying to you. I have no reason to."

She laughed—a harsh, empty sound. Then she stepped back as her gaze cut between me and Dennis like a blade.

"So, it’s either you are lying..." Her voice trembled. "...or I’m insane. Which is it?"

I didn’t answer.

There was no correct answer to that question. Any choice would trigger a storm.

But Mother didn’t wait for one. Her eyes returned to Dennis, hard and cold. "He is not my son."

Dennis didn’t move, but the silence around him shattered like thin glass.

Then she swung toward me again, pointing sharply. "And you are not—"

Suddenly, she stopped mid-sentence. Her head turned, her nostrils flaring, sniffing the air sharply.

Then, she frowned, stepped past us, and walked straight toward the door with sudden focus.

Dennis and I split apart automatically to let her pass. She reached the doorway, paused, inhaled again—

Then she turned back to us and narrowed her eyes with unsettling clarity. "You brought someone with you?"

"Yes," I answered quietly. "My wife."

Mother tilted her head, studying me with calm, unblinking curiosity. "Your wife?"

I nodded once, then quickly explained. "The last time I visited, you asked when you would meet her, and I told you the next time I came. So..."

She was unnervingly still for a moment. Then, she smiled softly. "I remember."

My brows twitched. ’She remembered?’

Of all the things to slip through the cracks of her fractured memory, she had remembered that conversation?

She couldn’t recognize me sometimes, couldn’t remember or acknowledge Dennis as her son, couldn’t remember her own meals, but she remembered Meredith?

Before I could process it, she softly began reciting—almost dreamily—the exact description I had given her a year earlier.

"Silver hair... purple eyes... sharp tongue... mind of her own..."

Dennis leaned subtly toward me, whispering under his breath, "She knows about Meredith?"

I didn’t look at him; I just hummed in response.

Mother’s focus snapped back to me. "The Angel is here?" Her voice was soft, reverent, warm. "Let me see her."

A long breath escaped me—half relief, half caution. This calm wouldn’t last forever, but we wouldn’t get a better moment than this.

I stepped forward, placing a hand on the door. "Alright," I said quietly. "You can meet her."

And with that, I opened the door for my mother to see my wife.