My dad became a monk after his mate died

When my dad, Landon Voss, heard his high school sweetheart had passed away, he lost it. Completely heartbroken, he gave away our entire million-dollar fortune and became a monk, leaving my mom to raise me and my little brother on the streets. We almost starved.

Mom, though, she's a fighter. She scavenged trash, slung barbecue from a cart, and somehow not only kept us alive but built a business. She even bought us a house. The day we moved into our new place, after ten years of radio silence, Dad showed up again.

He had cancer. And he wanted us to foot the bill for his treatment.

I was at work when my Aunt Cheryl called out of the blue.

"Miranda, great news! Your dad's back! Aren't you thrilled?" Her voice was all bubbly, like she'd just won the lottery.

I froze, her laughter echoing in my ears. That wolf-ten years ago, he ditched his mate and pups for his old flame, shaved his head, and joined a monastery. Why the hell was he back now?

My throat tightened. "Where is he?" I asked.

"Almost at your house! It's been so long since you've seen your dad-you must miss him like crazy!"

"Don't worry, honey, he's back for good this time. Your family's finally gonna be whole again. Get home quick, Miranda!"

I hung up, my heart racing. Did Mom know? She's the kindest, softest person I know. It took her years to get over Dad leaving, and now that life was finally on track, I couldn't let him break her heart again.

I dialed Mom right away. She was at the market, haggling, her voice bright with a smile.

"Miranda, I'm in the middle of getting supplies. What's up, sweetie?"

Hearing her so cheerful calmed me a bit. She didn't know he was back. There was still time.

I had to get that wolf out of our lives before Mom got home.

"Hey, Mom," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I'm craving crawfish tonight. Can you grab a couple pounds after you're done? The big ones."

"Crawfish, huh? They're tough to find this time of year, but I'll see what I can do."

"No rush, take your time."

I hung up, requested a half-day off work, and hopped in an Uber to head home.

At the gate of our house, a wolf and a she-wolf stood waiting. No idea how they got past the security gate. The wolf-middle-aged, dressed in plain clothes with a knit beanie-stared at the house, looking annoyed.

"Didn't we call already? Where are they? This is ridiculous!" he griped.

He'd aged. His once-decent looks had faded into a sallow, saggy mess, but he still carried that same holier-than-thou attitude, like the world owed him a red carpet.

Seeing him like that, I almost laughed. Back in the day, he'd lorded his fancy literature degree over Mom, acting like she was beneath him because she was "just" a housemate. He'd carry around a picture of his high school sweetheart, writing poems and sketching her like some tortured artist. When he heard she died, he chain-smoked on the balcony all night, clutching her photo, crying, "Rose, I'll join you!"

The next day, he sold our house, donated every penny of our million bucks, and became a monk. While the media gushed over his "epic love story," Mom and I were kicked out, homeless, with no one giving a damn if we lived or died.

I couldn't believe he had the nerve to show up now.

"Miranda! You're here!" Aunt Cheryl spotted me, waving like we were at a family reunion. "Come on over, pup! What's with the standing around? You must be over the moon seeing your dad!"

Dad turned, caught sight of me, and his face darkened. "What took you so long? Do you know how long I've been waiting?"

I ignored him, my voice ice-cold. "What are you doing here?"

He was already irritated, and my tone pissed him off more. "What do you mean, you? Who do you think you're talking to? No manners at all. What the hell did that idiot Lucinda Thorn teach you?"

The second he insulted Mom, I saw red. He still thought he was king of the castle, huh? Who was indulging this wolf?

"Who're you calling an idiot?" I snapped.

"You watch your mouth, you little brat! How dare you talk to your father like that!" He lunged, arm raised to hit me, but Aunt Cheryl grabbed him just in time.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You two haven't seen each other in forever, and you're already fighting?" She held him back, shooting him a look before turning to me with a sheepish smile. "Miranda, don't be like that. I know you've missed your dad so much, and you're probably upset. But he's missed you wolves too. He's here to make things right."

"Make things right?" I scoffed. "When he gave away every dime we had and left us on the street, did he think about what would happen to Mom? To me and my brother? And now he wants to 'make things right'? Who cares!"

Dad stared at me, shocked. "What do you mean I left you on the street? That money was mine-I earned it! Don't I have the right to do what I want with it? I was grieving. As my daughter, why can't you understand that? Or is money more important to you than feelings?"

I thought he'd feel at least a shred of guilt for what he did. Nope. He was as self-righteous as ever.

I almost laughed, too fed up to argue. "I'm done talking. Get out. You're not welcome here."

Aunt Cheryl, sensing things spiraling, jumped in. "Miranda, that's not what he meant. Let's go inside and talk this out calmly. You don't want the neighbors gossiping, do you?"

"No way they're stepping foot in this house. Have some shame and leave, or I'm calling security."

"You little-how dare you talk to me like that! I'm your father!" Dad raised his hand again, but Aunt Cheryl yanked him back, frantically signaling him to cool it.

He took a breath, lowered his arm, and smirked. "Fine. You're an ungrateful brat, but I'll wait for your mom. Let's see if she dares keep me out."

I clenched my fists. His confidence wasn't baseless. Back then, Mom had chased him for years, practically worshipping him. In their bond, she was always the one bending over backward, forgiving him even when he was shady with other she-wolves. She never had the heart to call him out.

If she saw him now, she'd probably cave again.

I wasn't letting that happen.

"I said you're not welcome. Get the hell out!" I grabbed a broom from the side and started swinging it like a lunatic, shooing them like stray dogs. "Security! Security! We've got trespassers!"

Dad's face got smacked with the broom, and he stumbled back, cursing. "Miranda Voss, have you lost your mind? How dare you treat your father like this! You're gonna pay for this!"

"Voss? I'm a Thorn!" I screamed, scooping up some dog crap with the broom and smearing it toward their faces. "Get out! Scram!"

In the middle of the chaos, I heard Mom's voice. "Miranda?"

I froze. At the corner of the street, Mom stood holding grocery bags, staring at us in shock.

Why was she back so early?

I tried to block Dad from her view, but it was too late. Her eyes landed on him.

Dad blinked, taking her in. Mom was in a silk dress, light makeup, looking polished and confident-a far cry from the frumpy housemate she used to be. He shifted awkwardly, wiping the grime off his face, and forced a stiff smile. "Lucinda, I'm back. For good this time."

I looked at Mom, panicked, terrified she'd fall for his act and get hurt again.

But Mom just smiled softly. "Landon, huh?"

Her calm threw me off. I rushed over. "Mom, call security. Let's get them out of here!"

She gave me a gentle scolding look. "Miranda, what's that talk? That's no way to act. He's still your father."

Dad relaxed, hearing her defend him. He'd been worried she might hold a grudge, that he'd have to sweet-talk his way back in. But now? Pfft, he thought, she's probably thrilled to see me.

His old swagger returned, and he pointed at me, smug. "You raised quite the firecracker, Lucinda."

Mom glanced at me, chuckling. "Miranda's just got a strong personality. Don't take it personally."

Not wanting to air our dirty laundry in public, Dad forced a laugh. "Take it personally? Nah."

He reached for Mom's hand. "Lucinda, these past few years..."

She subtly pulled away, smiling at me. "Miranda, open the door. Let your dad in."

"Mom! Why should he get to come inside?"

"Open the door, sweetie. Don't make me ask again."

I gritted my teeth, fishing out my keys and unlocking the door.

Dad watched Mom's back, a little annoyed she'd dodged his touch, but he brushed it off. She's probably just sulking a bit, he thought. It's been years-she'll get over it.

With a smug grin, he forgot his earlier irritation and strode into the house like he owned the place.

Our new house was a stunner, designed by a pro-clean, modern, the kind of place that makes you stop and stare. Dad looked around, nodding like he approved.

"Not bad, not bad. Plenty of space, nice and bright. Perfect for reading. The decor's a bit tacky, though-she-wolves' taste, you know. No biggie, I'll spruce it up later..."

I didn't say a word. Mom headed to the kitchen with her grocery bags. "It's almost six. The feng shui wolf said the first meal in a new house has to be at seven, so we're cutting it close. Miranda, come help me peel some garlic."

"Mom..." I shot a disgusted look at Dad and Aunt Cheryl. Why were they even here? Why should we cook for them?