Carrying My Daughter without My Mate

Dinner was quiet, almost too quiet. I sat across the table, forcing myself to eat, though each bite felt like it might stick in my throat. Across from me, my mate ate peacefully, almost oblivious. After his call earlier, he had settled into dinner as if nothing had happened.

But everything was wrong.

"So," he spoke between bites, "how was the meeting with the healers?"

I took a slow breath, steeling myself. "It was... fine." I reached for my glass and took a long drink, hoping to calm the swirl of emotions beneath my words.

He smiled, genuine warmth in his eyes.

"Of course it was. They’re lucky to have someone as sharp as you, my Luna. Rest assured, everything’s in good hands." His tone was sweet, like honey—and for a moment, I wanted to believe it. How could he say these things so earnestly, as if there wasn’t anything else weighing us down?

His eyes twinkled as he looked at me, amused. "What?" he chuckled, wiping his mouth. "Got something on my face?"

I managed a thin smile, my chest tightening. "Nothing... I just miss..."

He cut me off with a playful wink. "I know, love. You miss me that much, huh?" He got up, casting a quick glance at the kitchen. "Let me check on the food. It’s your favorite tonight." He gave me one last smile before strolling to the kitchen, so casual, so... clueless.

The moment he disappeared, I exhaled sharply. My heart pounded, and I felt a sudden fullness—not from the food but from the weight of his charade.

That’s when I noticed his phone, abandoned on the table, its screen lighting up briefly. Curiosity took hold, and I reached for it, hands steady but my heart racing.

I tried to unlock it. I started with his birthday. Nothing. Then mine. Still nothing. I attempted our anniversary, even the date we lost our first child. Each time, the screen rejected me, and with each failed attempt, the knot in my stomach tightened.

Just as I was about to give up, I remembered the email—the one with that embedded date. My heart dropped. It was the date of his mistress’s first ultrasound.

I hesitated, then typed it in, "09022024."

The phone unlocked.

My breath caught, and suddenly everything felt like a room caging me.

The wallpaper on his phone was a picture of them at a yacht party, laughing together, looking like they didn’t have a care in the world. As reality sank in, tears started to run down my face. Six years—gone, crashing down in an instant.

I couldn’t resist the urge to dig deeper. I opened his social media accounts. One of them was full of their pictures and videos together.

The caption on a recent post read, “My one and only, Mi amore.”

Mi amore. That was what he used to call me during our first year together. Now, the words felt like a cruel joke.

I opened his messages, and my heart twisted as I read their conversation.

"I miss you already, Jax. Can't wait to see you again."

The call history was packed with her number, and the messages were flooded with heart emojis and little notes of affection that made my stomach churn.

All this behind my back? All this while he acted like I was his whole world?

I felt numb, then furious, then back to numb. I forced myself to stay calm, fighting the urge to question what I had done wrong, to blame myself for his betrayal.

No. This was on him. This jerk didn’t deserve the loyalty I had given him from the very start. It felt like I had lost a war, but I wasn’t about to walk away defeated. I was a warrior, even if wounded.

I took a shaky breath and started gathering every piece of evidence—screenshots of his calls, the messages, the photos. I sent everything to my own phone and deleted any trace on his.

Wiping my tears, I placed a hand on my stomach, steadying myself. “I’m sorry, little angel,” I whispered softly, “you have a father who’s a cheater.”

The woman’s face lingered in my mind, unfamiliar yet somehow taunting. She had managed to send me that email, exposing their betrayal so boldly. If she had access to a device like that, it could only mean one of two things: she was a high-ranking werewolf, or Jaxon had made sure she had the means. Either way, this wasn’t over.

The next morning, I found Jaxon in the living room, fumbling with his necktie. He looked up as I approached, flashing a smile. "Hey, good morning, lovely."

I just stared at him, barely managing a nod.

He leaned in, giving me a quick, almost mechanical kiss on the cheek. "I’ll be heading out. Got a quick meeting with the pack," he said, reaching for his coat.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Another one?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, you know how it is."

Before I could say anything else, he was already out the door. I stood there, staring at the empty space he’d left behind, the calm shattering inside me. How could he keep doing this? Acting so normal, so loving?

I grabbed my keys and headed out, following his car at a distance, my heart pounding with every mile.

My stomach twisted as I watched him pull up to the healer’s office, and then she appeared. His mistress. Jaxon walked over and took her hand, leading her inside with a warmth I hadn’t felt from him in ages. It hit me like a punch to the gut—this wasn’t just a fling. They were here for a check-up, probably for the pup they were expecting.

I felt a dull, throbbing ache in my ring finger, where our bond should have been strong and steady. But now, it was like a broken link, frayed and painful, a reminder of everything I thought we had.

From my hiding spot, I could see Jaxon pause, his face clouding with something like regret. For a moment, I let myself hope he felt even a sliver of the hurt he’d caused. The woman glanced up at him, concerned.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice soft.

He gave her a gentle smile, brushing it off like it was nothing. "Just thinking," he said, then led her inside.

I leaned against my car, my breath coming in shaky gasps as reality closed in.

He’d made his choice, and it wasn’t me. Clearly not me.