Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Chapter 72

BIANCA

I stared at the bag in my hands, at the careful restoration work someone had done, at my initials gleaming in the light.

This wasn’t just a gift. It was an heirloom. A piece of Rivera’s family history, his grandmother’s legacy, something precious enough that he’d kept it all these years.

And he was giving it to me.

“Lucian, I can’t–this is too much-”

“It’s not enough,” he interrupted softly. “You’ve become part of our family, Bianca. Part of our lives in a way I didn’t expect but can’t imagine being without now. You’ve helped Louis, been there for both of us, brought light back into a house that was too quiet for too long.”

His hand moved from my shoulder to cup my face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped.

“You deserve to be celebrated. To have people who see your accomplishments and feel proud, who want to support you not because you’re useful but because you matter. And you matter to us. Very much.”

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe through the emotion clogging my throat.

Because this was what I’d been missing for so long. Not just support or celebration, but genuine appreciation. Being valued for who I was rather than what I could provide.

“Thank you,” I finally whispered. “For the bag. For the celebration. For–for everything.”

“You earned it,” Rivera said simply.

Louis, who’d been watching this exchange with the intensity of someone memorizing it for future reference, suddenly tugged on my sleeve.

“Can we eat cake now? Because I’m very hungry and also I want to celebrate with sugar.”

The moment broke, and both Rivera and I laughed, the tension dissolving into something warm and comfortable.

“Yes, sweetheart,” I said. “Let’s eat cake.”

Dinner was my favorite meal–pasta with the sauce Rivera had perfected over weeks of experimentation, fresh bread, a salad that Louis picked at without actually eating. The lopsided cake was exactly as delicious as something made with love rather than precision should be.

Louis chattered throughout, his excitement boundless. He wanted to know everything about the exam, what questions I’d answered, whether I’d been scared, if I thought I was smarter than all the other doctors.

“You’re definitely smarter,” he pronounced with five–year–old certainty. “Because you’re my mummy, and mummies are always the smartest.”

The casual way he claimed me, the absolute conviction in his voice, made my heart swell with affection.

By the time we’d cleared the dishes and Louis had helped with cleanup–which mostly involved him reorganizing the already- clean silverware drawer–exhaustion was catching up with me.

The adrenaline from the exam, the emotional release of passing, the overwhelming celebration–it all crashed down at once, leaving me drained.

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Chapter 72

“Someone needs to go to bed,” Rivera observed, but he was looking at me, not Louis.

“I’m not tired,” I protested, even as I stifled a yawn.

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“Uh–huh.” His lips quirked with amusement. “Louis, say goodnight to Dr. Bianca. She’s had a very long day.”

“Goodnight, Mummy,” Louis said, hugging me tightly. “I’m really proud of you. And I’m glad you’re staying with us forever and ever.”

“Louis-“Rivera started, probably to correct the “forever and ever” assumption.

But I cut him off. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Thank you for making today so special.”

Rivera carried Louis upstairs for the bedtime routine, and I settled on the couch with my new medical bag, running my fingers over the smooth leather, tracing my embossed initials.

This felt real in a way nothing had for weeks. Tangible proof that I was building something here, creating a life that was mine.

I was still examining the bag when Rivera returned, looking slightly harried.

“Louis insisted on three bedtime stories and a detailed explanation of what ‘distinction‘ means in the context of exam results,” he said, dropping onto the couch beside me. “I think he’s planning to brag to his kindergarten class tomorrow.”

“He’s allowed to brag,” I said, smiling. “I’m feeling pretty brag–worthy myself right now.”

“You should be.” Rivera’s voice went soft. “Bianca, I need to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly.”

The shift in his tone made me set down the bag and turn to face him fully.

“Are you happy here?” he asked. “In BloodMoon City. In this house. With us.”

The question hung between us, weighted with implications I wasn’t sure either of us was ready to examine.

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