Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

MATTHEW

The thought brought unexpected relief, which made me feel immediately guilty. But Dr. Vance’s words from our first session echoed in my mind: *Theo associates Mia with his mother’s death. Having her in the house is reinforcing his trauma.*

“If I agree to this,” I said slowly, “if I can get approval from the Alpha King, would Theo come with me alone? Or would Mia-”

“Absolutely not.” Dr. Vance’s response was immediate and unequivocal. “Mia’s presence would be counterproductive at best, actively harmful at worst. This needs to be you and Theo, giving him a clean slate, a chance to process his grief without constant reminders of the circumstances surrounding his mother’s death.”

I nodded, relief warring with guilt. “Okay. Okay, I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll contact the Alpha King’s office today.”

“There’s one more thing.” Dr. Vance pulled out another document. “I need you to write a letter to accompany your application. Explain the situation, include my clinical notes, make it clear this is about a child’s mental health, not business interests. The Alpha King is reportedly more sympathetic to cases involving children.”

“Reportedly?” I caught the qualifier.

“He’s been very private since his wife’s death five years ago. But the few cases I’ve heard about where he’s granted exceptions have involved medical emergencies or children in crisis. Play to that.”

I spent the rest of that afternoon in my office, drafting and redrafting the letter to the Alpha King of BloodMoon City.

*Your Majesty,*

*I am writing to request temporary residence in BloodMoon City for medical purposes. My son, Theo Morrison, age four, has been suffering from severe trauma–related selective mutism following the death of his mother three weeks ago.*

I paused, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. How did I explain this without revealing the full truth? That I’d forced my wife into a ritual that killed her? That my son blamed himself for a death I’d caused?

Theo has been under the care of Dr. Helena Vance, a licensed child psychologist, who has determined that he requires

specialized treatment beyond her scope of practice. Dr. Sloane Fisher, a trauma specialist in your city, has agreed to take his case using Guided Memory Reprocessing techniques.

My son believes he is responsible for his mother’s death due to unkind words spoken in childhood frustration. This guilt is crushing him, preventing him from healing, from speaking, from being the happy child he was before tragedy struck our family.

I am not requesting this for business purposes or personal gain. I am a father desperate to help his son heal from trauma that is destroying him from the inside out. I have attached Dr. Vance’s clinical notes and Dr. Fisher’s treatment plan for your review.

I understand that BloodMoon City maintains strict entry requirements. I respect that. But I am asking you, as one parent to another, to grant us temporary residence so my son can receive the help he desperately needs.

Respectfully,

Alpha Matthew Morrison

Silver Moon Pack

I attached Dr. Vance’s detailed clinical notes–pages of documentation about Theo’s condition, the recording of his session, projections about his long–term prognosis without intervention.

Then I sent it, watching the email disappear into the void, and prayed to whatever gods might be listening that the Alpha King of

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I returned home to find Mia pacing in the living room, her phone clutched in her hand, her face pale.

“Matthew, thank God.” She rushed toward me, and I saw genuine fear in her eyes. “We need to talk. Something’s happening, something bad, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s wrong?” I set down my briefcase, exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket.

“I’m being followed.” She thrust her phone at me. “Look at these messages. They started a few days ago, but they’re getting worse.”

I scrolled through the texts, my blood running cold with each one:

*I know what you did.*

*You can’t hide from the truth forever.*

*Return what you stole, or face the consequences.*

*You have one week to make this right.*

And the most recent, sent just an hour ago:

*You have one week to return what you stole, or I’ll take it by force.

“Who sent these?” I checked the number, but it was blocked. Untraceable.

“I don’t know!” Mia’s voice rose with panic. “I don’t know what they’re talking about. What did I steal? I haven’t taken anything from anyone!”

I stared at the messages, my mind racing. The wording was specific. Deliberate. *Return what you stole.* Not money, not property–something abstract. Something valuable enough to threaten force to retrieve.

“Mia.” I kept my voice calm with effort. “Is there anything you’re not telling me? Anything about the procedure, about Dr. Hartwick, about-”

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