The Breaking Point of Mate: Giving Up on My Alpha novel Chapter 62

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Chapter 62

Melanie’s POV

The next day, the sky was a blue so clear it felt transparent. I took Trista to a horse ranch on the outskirts of town.

As I stepped out of the locker room in my sleek riding gear, I caught Trista with her back to me, eagerly bragging to the instructor. “My dad and one of my aunties are like, pro riders. They look so cool on a horse. It’s a bummer they’re too busy to come today…”

I paused at the doorway, choosing not to burst the bubble of her tiny vanity.

The instructor noticed me first and stood up with a polite nod. “Ms. Willis.”

I gave a small nod in return.

He glanced at the horse I was leading and asked tentatively, “Would you like me to arrange an assistant to shadow you, ma’am?”

“Yes, please. That would be great.”

The truth was, I knew how to ride. It was just that over the last few years, I’d spent all my time standing outside the fence being a “perfect spectator” for Trista. I’d gotten used to clipping my own wings.

To keep things steady, I let the instructor lead me for a bit.

Once another trainer took Trista toward the beginner’s ring, I swung into the saddle with practiced ease.

My assistant’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t realize your horsemanship was this good.”

“I used to practice a lot.”

I took the reins, steered away from the crowd, and gave the white horse a firm squeeze with my legs. It let out a sharp neigh and took off like an arrow into the heart of the meadow.

The wind whipped past my ears, blowing away the suffocating heaviness that had been sitting in my chest lately.

I did several high–speed laps until sweat started to bead on my nose, only then slowing the horse to a walk to go find Trista.

However, I pulled up short about ten yards away from the beginner’s area.

It was Archer and Camille.

They had actually shown up.

Trista was jumping for joy, hugging Camille’s leg while the three of them stood in a huddle, chatting. Their laughter sounded incredibly grating across the open field.

Then, Camille mounted her horse and pulled Trista into her lap to ride together; Archer climbed onto a massive black stallion, looking every bit the cold, noble Alpha.

The two horses moved side–by–side as they talked and laughed, their silhouettes overlapping in the sunlight.

In that moment, they looked exactly like a picture–perfect, “happily ever after” family.

My fingers tightened on the reins for a split second before I silently let go.

They drifted further away, completely immersed in their own world. Not once did they notice the calm gaze watching them from behind.

I looked away, turned my horse around, and left the field without a word.

After changing out of my damp riding clothes, I sat in the lounge sipping on some cold soda.

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Chapter 62

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About twenty minutes later, my communication stone buzzed. Archer’s name flashed on the surface.

My voice was as flat as usual. “Hello.”

“I’m at the ranch,” he said. “I’ll take over with Trista from here. You’re done.”

“Fine.”

The line went dead immediately, the cut–off as cold as ice.

Since Trista was taken care of, I grabbed my bag and walked out of the lounge without looking back.

As I drove away from the ranch and the noise faded, I was hit by this sudden, ridiculous feeling of having nowhere to go.

Gillian and Elmer both had their own lives and careers; even if they were happy to hang out, I didn’t want to be a burden right

now.

I thought about going back to the Red Rose Pack, but without Trista there, Monica would definitely start grilling me about where Archer was. That kind of motherly concern felt like it would just be a slow, gentle torture.

I slowed down as I passed a wetland park.

The riverbank was covered in camping tents. Young couples were laughing while chasing their kids, and groups of friends were helping their elderly parents walk through the woods.

That kind of ordinary, grand happiness felt like a needle pricking my eyes.

I used to think that if I just worked hard enough, I could piece together a picture like that for myself.

I eventually pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine.

After hesitating for a long time, I dug out a number I hadn’t touched in ages and hit dial.

When the call connected, my voice was barely a rasp. “Hi. I’m calling about my mother… how has she been lately?”

An hour and a half later, at the Rose Healing Center, I stood in the manicured courtyard, watching a woman sitting on a bench

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