Page 19 of Wolf's Whisper

"Everything okay?" she asks, concern lacing her tone. "The kids good?"

"Yeah, yeah, they're fine," I assure her quickly. "They're amazing. Chloe... drew a picture today. Of a wolf."

There's a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice when she says, "A wolf, huh? Smart kid."

I laugh lightly, tucking my legs under me on the couch. "She said wolves are strong and protect their pack. She asked if you have a pack, too."

Her chuckle is low and genuine. "Well, I do. But it's not exactly the kind of pack you'd bring up at show-and-tell."

I smile, picking at a loose thread on my sweater. "She also asked if we could be part of your pack one day."

Wolf is quiet for a moment, and I think maybe I’ve overstepped. My stomach twists nervously. But then she speaks, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard.

"She did, huh?" There’s a pause, and I can almost picture her rubbing the back of her neck like she does when thinking. "What did you say?"

"I told her I didn’t know," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "But that maybe you’d like that."

There’s another beat of silence before she replies. "I would," she says simply. The simplicity of her words makes them hit even harder. No hesitation, no doubt—just truth.

"Janelle," she says, and how she says my name sends a shiver down my spine. "You know I don't have a lot of people I let in.Not really. But you and those kids…" She trails off, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You’re different.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "I know," I say softly. "That’s why it scares me a little."

"Scares you?" she echoes, her voice gentle but firm. "Why?"

I sigh, leaning my head back against the couch. How do I explain the whirlwind of emotions of letting someone in after everything I've been through? After everything the kids have been through?

"Because," I start, searching for the right words, "letting someone in... it’s not just about me anymore. It’s about them, too. And I’ve already let them down once. I can’t—" My voice cracks, and I take a shaky breath. "I can’t do that to them again."

"You didn’t let anyone down," she says firmly, cutting through my self-doubt like a knife. "You got out because you had to. You protected them. You’re still protecting them. That’s not failure, Janelle. That’s strength."

Her words wash over me, strong and steady like a tide that refuses to back down. I don’t know why hearing it from her makes it feel more real, but it does. Maybe it’s how her voice carries a conviction I haven’t been able to muster myself.

I take another breath, forcing my fingers to stop fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. "It doesn’t feel like strength most days," I admit quietly.

"That’s because you’re too close to it," she replies without missing a beat. "You don’t see it the way I do."

I blink at that, surprised by the honesty in her voice. "How do you see it?" I ask before I can stop myself.

She hesitates for just a second as if weighing her words carefully. "I see someone who’s fought through hell and came out the other side still standing," she says, her voice steady and sure. "I see someone raising three incredible kids and doing it with more grace than most people could ever hope to. I seesomeone who hasn’t let the worst parts of life break her. That’s strength, Janelle. Whether you feel it or not."

Her words settle over me like a blanket, warm and comforting but heavy with meaning. I don’t respond right away because I can’t. I feel a lump forming in my throat, and my eyes start to sting from the tears that I'm trying to hold back. No one has ever spoken to me with such sincerity before.

"Why are you so good at this?" I manage to choke out, half-laughing through the emotion in my voice.

"At what?" she asks, her tone dipping into playful territory. "Being ridiculously charming? It’s a gift."

I laugh softly, wiping at my eyes even though no tears have fallen yet. "Well, it's working," I admit, and I can hear the smile in her voice before she even responds.

"Good to know," she says. "But seriously, Janelle... you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got people who care about you. About the kids."

The weight of her words sinks in, and for the first time in a long while, I feel something shift inside me—like maybe letting someone help carry the load doesn’t make me weak. Maybe it just makes me human.

"Thanks, Wolf," I say after a moment, my voice softer now. "For saying that."

"Anytime." Her reply is simple, but there's an undertone of something more—something steady and reliable that makes my chest ache in a good way.

We fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, which doesn’t feel awkward or forced. It’s strange how easy it is to talk to her, even when we’re not saying anything. Her breathing on the other end of the line feels like a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

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