The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

Analise.
The morning light filters through the hospital window, waking me up from my deep slumber. I open my eyes and watch as the first rays of sunrise peer through the horizon. My body aches in unfamiliar ways, but the pain is softer today. Muted somehow. But then I remember what I had lost—the baby, my husband, my marriage—everything I had worked so hard for in almost a decade.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
Dr. Morgan steps inside, her silver hair catching the harsh fluorescent glow. She holds the same tablet from yesterday, but her expression is lighter now—less weighed down by the grief we shared only hours ago.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lewis,” she says, settling into the chair beside my bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Empty,” I answer honestly. My hand moves instinctively to the flatness of my stomach. “But… somehow, I know I have to move forward.”
She nods, tapping her tablet with efficient fingers. “That’s actually what I came to discuss. Your recovery has been… notable.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Notable how?”
“The D&C procedure typically requires extended observation, especially with the blood loss you experienced. But your vitals are strong. Blood count’s normal now, in spite of the blood loss you suffered yesterday. Tissue recovery is nearly complete. In fact…” She glances up, her gaze sharp, probing. “Your body appears to be healing at an unusually fast rate.”
I blink, the words landing strangely in my ears. “That’s… not typical, right?”
“Not typical, no. But not without precedent either.” She sets her tablet on the rolling tray and leans forward slightly. “Sometimes it’s genetic. Enhanced healing factors. We’ve seen it in certain families.”
Genetic.
The word strikes a chord. As far as I can recall, my injuries have always healed quickly. I'm not sure which genes blessed me with this fortune, especially considering my father's numerous health issues over the years. Lorraine has spent plenty of time in hospitals, and Steph, my stepmother, has already survived a mild stroke and is currently dealing with diabetes. In our family, I'm the one who rarely falls ill. Except for Sebastian. In all my years living with him, I've never seen him get sick. There was even a time when I thought he had a deep cut on his shoulder, only to find it completely healed the next day. But maybe that was just my imagination. Because that’s quite impossible.
“What does that mean for future pregnancies?” I ask, though the thought feels distant, almost grotesque. I have decided to leave Tyler, but I have not lost hope that someday I will find the right person, and I would want to have a baby with him.
Dr. Morgan studies me, her voice softening. “It’s something we’d need to explore with caution. The rejection we discussed yesterday, combined with this recovery—it all points to something rare in your physiology. Possibly immune-related. Definitely worth further testing… when you’re ready.”
She rises, smoothing her coat. “But that’s for another time. Right now, you focus on healing. Emotional recovery takes longer than physical.”
“So I can go home today?”
“Yes, though I urge you to take things slowly. Trauma doesn’t follow hospital charts.”
She pauses at the foot of my bed, her gaze loaded with unspoken truths. “You deserve rest, Mrs. Lewis. Real rest. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me with the steady rhythm of machines and the echo of her words. You deserve rest. It sounds so simple. But when was the last time someone said I deserved anything, simply for being human?
I reach for my phone.
The screen confirms what I already knew—no calls, no texts. Tyler’s silence stretches across the screen like a void. No worried messages. No frantic voicemails. Not even a token emoji.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I lay bleeding on our living room floor while he rushed Lorraine to safety.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I lost our child.
He was holding vigil at another woman’s bedside while I was losing the life we created. The cruelty of it punches fresh and sharp, like pressing on a wound you thought had scabbed over.
I scroll through my call log. My father’s number sits at the top—our brief conversation a lifeline in deep water. I used to think love meant sacrifice. That devotion required erasure. I stepped down from the pedestal my parents put me in, just so I won’t be unreachable to Tyler. But here, surrounded by antiseptic walls after I lost our baby, I realize just how wrong my decision had been.
Love doesn’t ask you to vanish. Love won’t ask you to lose yourself for the other person.
A knock at the door. The discharge nurse enters with cheerful efficiency that grates against the stillness I’ve grown into.
She hands me forms to sign, prescriptions to fill, aftercare instructions I barely skim. Leaving this place should feel monumental. Instead, it feels like paperwork.
“Is someone picking you up?” she asks gently.
“I’ll call a car,” I say. No point explaining that my husband is too preoccupied with his long-lost cousin to notice his wife had disappeared.
She nods, her expression unreadable. “Take your time. No rush.”
I dress slowly, mechanically. The clothes from two nights ago feel foreign now. They smell like my old life—Tyler’s cologne, Vivian’s fabric softener, luxury and control woven into every fiber. I fold the hospital gown neatly and leave it on the bed. The woman who wore it believed in Tyler. In his child. In his love.
The woman leaving this room believes in herself.
My reflection in the mirror looks pale, but my eyes are different—sharper. Cleaner. As if grief scrubbed something false from my face.
I think of my father’s voice on the phone. I think of Luxe Emerald, my mother’s legacy, still waiting for me. I think of Sebastian, and I wonder if he knows where I am right now. If he does, why hasn’t he come? Why did he show himself the other day, but failed to show up today?
The taxi ride home feels surreal. Like moving through a city I’ve never seen before. Each familiar building now holds unfamiliar possibilities. Now that I have decided to reclaim my old identity, everything also looks different, feels different. Like I’m also looking at it with different eyes.
I receive a message from Catherine.
“It’s done. He’s been served,” she says. This means that Tyler has been served the divorce papers. Catherine works fast and I like that about her.
When the car pulls into the driveway, I don’t know whether I should feel devastated or excited. Soon, I will return to my old self. No masks, no pretenses. I will be back to not giving a fuck about many things—including Tyler’s feelings.
Tyler stands in the foyer like a cornered predator. His hair’s a mess, shirt wrinkled—less curated, more feral. The divorce documents lie scattered on the marble table beside him.
His eyes find me the second the door closes.
“What the hell is this?” he snarls, snatching the papers. “Some kind of joke?”
I don’t flinch.
“You think you can just walk away from everything we’ve built?” He waves the papers like they’ve personally offended him. “After everything?”
“No,” I say calmly. I raise my chin, giving him a haughty expression. “I’m walking away because of everything.”
His mouth opens, then closes. Like he doesn’t recognize the woman standing in front of him.
That’s right. Analise Lewis is gone.
He’s now looking at Analise Emerald Lander McGregor.”