Page 26 of Season's Greetings
What was so wrong with duck egg blue?It was calming. Homely.
Two feelings he never associated with his parents growing up.
And here he was—a bonded adult—and they were still trying to run his life. Still trying to make his choices for him.
Well, enough was enough.
He took one last look at his father—eyes so much like his own—and filed it away for safekeeping.
Then looked at his mother. Her blonde hair, so much like his, now streaked with gray.
It was time to cut the apron strings.
Time for them to let him go.
Standing, he walked down the hall to the foyer and opened the door.
“Matthew, where are you going? Did you not hear me? Don’t walk away when I’m speaking to you. Donald, don’t just sit there—do something!”
“Son, answer your mother when she speaks to you.”
Matthew turned, voice steady.
“Mom. Dad. We will never agree on this. I love Daniel. He is my mate. I love a male alpha. An Ursus-shifter. These are all things I can’t—and won’t—change. A parent’s love for their child should be unconditional.
For everyone else, maybe. But not for me.
I’ve jumped through every hoop you’ve asked of me. And for what?
I’m done dancing to your tune. Done with your belittling my life. Done trying to live up to your expectations.
I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Daniel
The starkness of his office usually helped him focus.
But today, Daniel was struggling to nail his emotions down.
He’d felt hollow for nearly a decade—held himself back, licked his wounds, wallowed in misery. Like he’d mentally retreated to his den.
Now everything had changed.
It was like walking into the first rays of light after a deep slumber.
Only now, it felt like the world was against them.
Not just Matthew’s parents. Not just Claudia.
But the very foundation—pack history, tradition, bonds—was under attack.
And that went against everything he had been taught to believe in.
This latest move to tear it all down?
It was the last straw.
Reading over the written interview between Claudia and Orin Blay gave Daniel the same sensation as nails scraping down a blackboard.
