Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

MATTHEW

“Because I was stupid,” I said honestly. “Because I was scared of losing Aunty Mia, and I wasn’t thinking clearly about what I was asking your mama to sacrifice.”

“But you should have protected Mama!” Theo was getting angry now, his small fists pounding against my chest. “You’re the daddy! You’re supposed to keep people safe! And you made Mama do something that killed her!”

Each word was accurate, deserved, completely justified.

“You’re right,” I said, letting him hit me, letting him express the rage I’d earned. “I should have protected her. I should have listened when she said it was too dangerous. I should have put her safety first instead of –”

“Instead of Aunty Mia,” Theo finished bitterly. “You picked Aunty Mia over Mama. Just like I did. We both picked Aunty Mia, and now Mama’s gone, and it’s both our faults.”

“No.” I caught his hands gently but firmly. “Theo, look at me. It is not your fault. You’re four years old. You didn’t understand what was happening. You didn’t make any choices that led to this. I did. I’m the adult. I’m the one who should have known better. This is my fault, not yours.”

“But I said I wanted Aunty Mia instead of Mama—”

“Because you were frustrated and tired and wanting attention. That’s normal. That’s what kids do.” I pulled him closer. “But I was an adult who knew better, who understood the risks, who had the power to say no. And I didn’t. That’s on me, buddy. All of

it.”

Theo was quiet for a long moment, his tears slowing.

“Do you miss Mama?” he finally asked.

“Every day. So much it hurts.”

“Me too.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I miss her reading me stories. And making special dinners. And the way she smiled when I showed her my drawings.”

“She loved your drawings,” I said, my own tears falling freely now. “She kept every single one. Did you know that? She had a folder in her closet filled with your artwork. Every picture you ever made for her.”

“Really?”

“Really. Because you were the most important thing in her world. More important than her work, more important than anything. You made her so happy, Theo. Even when you were being difficult or saying mean things, you were still her favorite person.”

We sat together in the quiet darkness of our temporary home, holding each other and crying for the woman we’d both failed in different ways.

“Daddy?” Theo’s voice was muffled against my shirt.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I forgive you.” The words were so simple, so pure. “For making the mistake. I know you didn’t mean for Mama to go away. So I forgive you.”

The absolution broke something in me. Because I didn’t deserve his forgiveness. Didn’t deserve the easy grace with which he

offered it.

Chapter 69

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But I accepted it anyway, holding my son and letting myself cry for everything I’d destroyed.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you, Theo.”

“But you have to be better,” he added seriously. “You have to make better choices. So nobody else goes away.”

“I will. I promise.” And I meant it with everything in me.

We sat like that for a long time, father and son processing grief in the only way we knew how–together, holding tight to each other, hoping it would be enough.

Eventually, Theo’s crying subsided, exhaustion taking over.

“Can we talk about happy memories of Mama?” he asked drowsily. “Like Dr. Fisher said? One happy memory before bed?”

“Of course. What do you want to remember?”

“The park. When she pushed me on the swings. Tell me about that day.”

So I told him what I could remember of that afternoon–the way Bianca had laughed when Theo demanded to go “higher, higher!“, the sunshine in her hair, the joy on her face as she watched our son fly through the air.

And for a moment, just a moment, she felt close again.

Like maybe she could hear us remembering her. Like maybe she knew we were trying, in our broken way, to honor her memory.

Theo fell asleep in my arms, and I carried him to bed, tucking him in with the stuffed wolf he’d clung to for weeks.

“I love you, Mama,” he whispered as I turned out the light. “I’m sorry I was mean. I hope you know I love you.”

The words shattered me all over again.

Because Bianca was gone, and she’d never know how sorry we were. Never know that Theo had forgiven both of us. Never know that her death had finally forced me to see what I’d been too blind to appreciate when she was alive.

I returned to the living room of our temporary apartment and pulled out my laptop, staring at the empty screen.

I’d been trying to write to Bianca for days now. Letters she’d never read, apologies she’d never hear, confessions of guilt she’d

never be able to forgive.

But maybe writing them anyway would help. Maybe getting the words out, even into a void, would ease the crushing weight of

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