Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Chapter 92

MATTHEW

James winced. “That’s rough. But it’s also really common. Kids that age have magical thinking–they believe their thoughts and wishes can directly cause things to happen. It takes time and therapy to help them understand that’s not how the world works.”

“Dr. Fisher’s been working on it with him. I thought we were making progress until yesterday.”

“Yesterday was a setback, not a regression,” James corrected. “Grief isn’t linear. Theo’s going to have good days and bad days, days where he seems fine and days where he falls apart. That’s normal.”

I nodded, trying to absorb this information.

“Can I ask you something?” James said carefully. “And feel free to tell me it’s none of my business. But are you getting support for yourself? Therapy, grief counseling, anything?”

“I’m seeing a therapist in Silver Moon territory,” I admitted. “Dr. Grace Martinez. She’s been-“I paused, searching for words. “She’s been helping me process my role in what happened.”

“Good. Because Theo’s going to take cues from you on how to handle this. If you’re falling apart, he’ll feel unsafe. But if you’re doing the work to process your own grief and guilt, he’ll learn that it’s possible to survive this.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

“I’m trying,” I said. “I’m trying to be better. For him.”

“I can see that.” James pushed off the wall. “Alright, I’ll send my report to Dr. Fisher. My recommendation is to continue current treatment, consider group therapy, and maybe look into some age–appropriate books about grief and loss. I can give you a list if you’d like.”

“That would be helpful. Thank you.”

We returned to the office, where Theo had constructed an elaborate battle scene with the action figures.

“All done?” he asked hopefully.

“All done,” James confirmed. “You were a great patient, Theo. Want a sticker before you go?”

Theo selected a dinosaur sticker with serious consideration, and we gathered our things to leave.

As we walked back through the pediatric ward toward the elevators, I found myself scanning the hallways. Looking for that woman I’d seen earlier. The one who’d moved like Bianca, who’d had Bianca’s profile.

But the halls were busy with doctors and nurses, all moving with purpose, and I couldn’t pick out any one person who looked

familiar.

You’re being ridiculous, I told myself. Seeing what you want to see, just like Theo.

cinations was going to change that.

Bianca was dead. I’d killed her. And no amount of wishful thinking or grief–induced ha

“Daddy?” Theo tugged on my hand as we waited for the elevator. “Are you looking for someone?”

“No, buddy. Just thinking.”

“About Mama?”

I looked down at my son, at his serious eyes that saw too much.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “About Mama.”

16

Chapter 92

“Me too,” Theo said quietly. “I think about her all the time.”

The elevator arrived, and we stepped inside. As the doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of the pediatric ward.

And there just for a second–I thought I saw her again. That woman with Bianca’s hair and build and way of moving.

But the doors closed before I could be sure, and we descended toward the lobby in silence.

It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

But God, for just a moment, I’d wanted it to be so badly it hurt.

+30 Bonus

That night, after Theo was asleep, I sat on the couch in our temporary apartment and stared at nothing.

Dr. Wright had said Theo was experiencing normal grief responses. That the searching behavior and magical thinking were all within expected parameters for a child his age.

But what about me? What did it say that I’d seen a stranger in a hospital hallway and immediately thought of Bianca? That I’d caught a scent of her perfume and started constructing impossible scenarios where she might still be alive?

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the photos I’d managed to recover–the few images of Bianca that Mia hadn’t deleted.

Our wedding day. Bianca smiling but the happiness not quite reaching her eyes.

Theo’s first birthday. Bianca holding our son, her expression soft with genuine love.

A random Tuesday morning. Bianca making coffee in our kitchen, unaware I was taking the photo, her face tired and distant.

I’d never really seen her, I realized. Never looked at these photos and noticed the sadness underneath her smiles, the loneliness in her eyes even when she was surrounded by family.

I’d been so focused on what I wanted–Mia, my perfect family fantasy–that I’d completely missed the woman who was actually

in front of me.

And now she was gone, and I was seeing her everywhere. In strangers at hospitals, in women at parks, in every dark–haired figure that moved with her particular grace.

My phone rang, Marcus’s name lighting up the screen.

“Alpha, I’m sorry to bother you so late,” he said when I answered. “But we have a situation. The pack-‘

“I can’t come back yet,” I interrupted. “Theo needs more time. Dr. Fisher and Dr. Wright both agree he’s not ready for the stress of returning home.”

“Matthew, they’re planning to challenge you. Formally. Beta Adam is gathering support, claiming you’ve abandoned your pack responsibilities.”

Beta Adam. One of my father’s old allies, someone who’d never approved of my leadership style.

“Let him challenge,” I said, too tired to care about pack politics. “If he wants the Alpha position that badly, he can have it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” I looked at the photos of Bianca still on my phone screen. “I’ve failed at everything that matters, Marcus. My marriage. My son. My role as Alpha. Maybe it’s time to step aside and let someone else try.”

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