My Cheating Mate (Emma and Jeremy) novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53

My Cheating Mate

Emma pov

The coffee shop was warm and familiar, a place I’d come to dozens of times before everything fell apart. Jeremy sat across frum me at a corner table, his hands wrapped around a glass of water instead of the coffee he used to drink black with two sugars.

He looked terrible. Thinner than he’d been even after the hospital stay. Dark circles under his eyes that suggested he wasn’t sleeping. His clothes hung a little loose, like he’d been forgetting to eat.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I’d been so focused on my own pain, my own healing, that I hadn’t really looked at him. Really seen what the past few months had done to him.

“You’re not sleeping,” I said, not a question.

He glanced up, surprised. “Not well. The house is—” He stopped. “I’ve been staying at my office most nights Working late. It’s easier than going home.”

“To the house we shared.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his water. “Everything there reminds me of you. Of what I destroyed. Some days I can handle it. Other days I just—can’t.”

I wanted to be angry. Wanted to tell him that he didn’t get to be the victim here, that his discomfort was nothing compared to what I’d been through.

But looking at him-really looking at him-I saw someone who was drowning in guilt and self-loathing. Someone who was punishing himself far more effectively than I ever could.

“You need to take care of yourself,” I said finally. “Skipping meals, not sleeping-that’s not healing, Jeremy. That’s self-

destruction.”

“I know. Dr. Chen says the same thing.” A bitter smile. “She calls it ‘maladaptive coping mechanisms.’ I call it getting what I

deserve.”

“Stop that.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “You don’t get to martyr yourself. Don’t get to slowly destroy yourself

and call it penance.”

His eyes met mine, surprised by the vehemence in my tone.

“I’m serious,” I continued. “If we’re going to do this–if we’re going to try to heal and move forward-then you need to actually be here. Not some guilt-ridden shell who’s punishing himself instead of doing the work.”

“I am doing the work,” he protested weakly.

“Are you? Or are you just going through the motions while you slowly waste away?” I leaned forward. “Jeremy, I can’t heal with you if you’re not actually present. If you’re too busy hating yourself to engage with what’s happening between us.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You’re right. I’ve been-stuck. In the guilt. In feeling like I don’t deserve to heal or be happy or move forward. And it’s easier to stay stuck than to actually try.”

“Why?”

“Because trying means risking failure,” he admitted. “If I stay stuck in guilt, at least I can tell myself I’m suffering appropriately for what I did. But if I actually try to heal, try to change, and I still can’t be what you need-” His voice broke. “That would mean I’m just fundamentally broken. That there’s no fixing me.”

The vulnerability in his words made my chest ache. Because I understood that fear. The terror that you’re too damaged, too broken, that no amount of work will make you whole again.

+ 25 Bonus

we’re both broken,” I said quietly. “You broke me when you betrayed me. And you broke yourself in the process. But Jeremy, breaking doesn’t mean unfixable”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.” I reached across the table, my hand hovering over his but not quite touching. “It means we have to work harder. Have to be more intentional. Have to actually commit to healing instead of just talking about it.”

He looked at my hand, then at my face. “I want to commit. I want to be better. I just don’t know how.”

“Start by taking care of yourself. Eating regular meals. Sleeping in an actual bed Doing the journal exercises Dr. Chen assigns instead of staring at blank pages.” I paused. “And maybe–maybe stop avoiding the house. Or if you can’t handle being there, consider moving somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn’t have all those memories.”

“I can’t leave that house,” he said immediately. “It’s the last place we were happy together. If I leave, it feels like giving up.”

“But you’re not living there,” I pointed out. “You’re sleeping at your office. So you’ve already left, you’re just not admitting it.”

He flinched but couldn’t argue.

“What time is your council meeting?” I asked, changing the subject before we got too deep into territory neither of us was ready

for

*

“Nine. About an hour.” He took a sip of water. “They’re going to vote on Vanessa’s sentence. The trial concluded last week while I was “He gestured vaguely at himself. “While I was a mess.”

“And what do you think they’ll decide?”

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