All Chapters of My Cheating Mate: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

My Cheating Mate Emma pov Jeremy's eyes opened for the fourth time that day, immediately scanning the hospital room with what had become a familiar desperation. When his gaze found me in the chair beside his bed, his entire body relaxed. "Still here," he whispered, his voice still rough but stronger than yesterday. "Still here," I confirmed, closing the book I'd been reading. "Where else would I be?" A ghost of a smile crossed his face before exhaustion pulled him back under. His hand, which had been reaching toward me, fell limply to the bed. I took it anyway, holding it gently while he slept. Five days since he'd first woken up. Five days of this pattern—eyes opening, searching for me, relaxing when he found me, then sleeping again. The doctors said it was normal, that his body was using every ounce of energy to heal from the trauma. But each time he looked for me first, before checking his injuries or asking about the pack, something in my chest tightened. The door opened

My Cheating Mate Jeremy pov Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as the physical therapist, Marcus—ironically named after Emma's father—helped me swing my legs over the side of the bed. "Take it slow," he said, his hands steady under my arms. "You've been bedridden for almost a month. Your body needs time to remember how this works." I nodded, not trusting my voice. The room spun slightly, and I had to close my eyes against the vertigo. When I opened them, Emma was there. Standing off to the side, her arms crossed, her expression carefully neutral. But her eyes—her eyes were worried. She still cared. Despite everything I'd done, despite the pain I'd caused, she still cared whether I could stand, whether I'd fall, whether I'd hurt myself trying. It was more than I deserved. "Ready?" Marcus the therapist asked. "Ready," I lied. He counted down from three, and on one, I pushed myself up. My legs immediately threatened to buckle. The therapist's grip tightened, holding m

My Cheating Mate Emma pov Day two of the trial, and the pack house meeting room was even more crowded than yesterday. Word had spread about the testimony, about the details of Jeremy's affair and Vanessa's crimes. Everyone wanted to witness the future Alpha's public reckoning. I sat in the front row next to my father, my hands clenched in my lap. Yesterday had been my testimony—showing the video, recounting what I'd overheard, describing the rogue attack at the motel. Reliving every moment of my humiliation in front of hundreds of pack members. The looks I'd gotten afterward ranged from pity to respect to judgment. Some thought I was weak for still caring about Jeremy. Others thought I was strong for staying. Most just seemed uncomfortable with the whole situation. Today was Jeremy's turn. He walked to the witness stand slowly, his movements still careful from his injuries. He'd been discharged from the hospital three days ago, against Dr. Reeves's recommendation, specific

My Cheating Mate Emma pov The hospital room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of Jeremy's breathing and the soft beep of monitors. I'd pulled my chair as close to his bed as possible, my hand loosely holding his while he slept off the anesthesia and pain medication. Four in the morning, according to the clock on the wall. I should go home, get some real sleep in an actual bed. But every time I tried to convince myself to leave, I remembered the feeling of his blood soaking through my clothes, the sound of Vanessa's laughter, the terror of thinking I might lose him. So I stayed. My phone buzzed quietly. A text from Aria: "Saw the news about the trial. Is he okay? Are YOU okay?" I typed back one-handed, not wanting to let go of Jeremy: "He's stable. Had emergency surgery. I'm... I don't know what I am." Her response came immediately: "I'm coming to the hospital." "It's 4 AM." "I don't care. You shouldn't be alone right now." Twenty minutes later, Aria appeared in the doo

My Cheating Mate Emma pov Dr. Sarah Chen's office was nothing like I'd expected. Instead of sterile and clinical, it was warm—soft lighting, comfortable chairs, plants in every corner, and a diffuser releasing something that smelled like lavender and cedar. It should have been calming. Instead, my stomach was in knots. Jeremy sat beside me on the couch, careful to leave space between us. He'd been discharged from the hospital two days ago, and while he was healing physically, he still moved slowly, still winced when he shifted wrong. Dr. Chen settled into her chair across from us, a notepad in her lap but her attention fully on us. She was maybe fifty, with kind eyes and silver streaking through her dark hair. She radiated a calm competence that should have been reassuring. Instead, I wanted to bolt. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her voice gentle. "I know starting therapy can be intimidating, especially for wolves. We're taught to handle everything ourselves, to be str