The Mate I Left Behind

I never imagined I’d be the one burying my mother alone. No priest. No mate at my side. Just me and the dirt, and the wind howling like my wolf inside.

Her final days were cruel—blackened veins twisting beneath her skin, her body ravaged by an illness that no healer could name, much less cure. She had endured years of agony. All she asked before she passed was to see me bound to my fated mate, Israel Donaldson—an Alpha's son from the Deep Forest Pack and once considered my destiny.

That dream shattered before it ever began.

Israel promised me the world: a mark, a ceremony, a future. But on the very morning we were to unite, he vanished. No note. No explanation. My mother died that same day—still waiting, still hoping—and took that heartbreak to her grave.

It wasn’t until the following sunrise, after a night of unanswered questions and searing silence, that I learned the truth. A conversation between two Omegas floated through the kitchen window. Israel had spent the entire evening tending to Esther—his childhood friend, the same woman who always seemed to summon him away from me with a single breath. While I dressed for our union, he was at her side.

But I didn’t scream. I didn’t weep. I didn’t even ask why.

---

I returned to our shared quarters after the funeral, hollowed out and resolute. He wasn’t there, which suited me fine. I couldn’t bear to see his face. As I gathered my belongings and prepared to leave that cursed place behind, the door creaked open.

Israel walked in with Esther at his side.

He froze upon seeing my packed suitcase. Confusion crept into his expression, followed by an accusatory frown. “Camille, what’s going on?” His voice was laced with irritation, as though I were throwing another tantrum.

Esther clung to his arm with her usual air of innocent superiority. “I’m so sorry, Camille,” she said sweetly, with a feigned pout. “I didn’t realize it was your mateship ceremony. Israel only came because I hurt my arm. It wasn’t serious, really. Just a little cut.”

I glanced at the neatly wrapped bandages on her arm. That was the emergency? That was what tore Israel from my side, from my mother’s deathbed? My stomach twisted. My wolf let out a low, agonized growl within me. Years of emotional wounds had brought me to this moment.

To Israel, my pain had never mattered—not compared to Esther’s scraped skin.

“I’m done, Israel,” I said quietly. “Whatever this was... it’s over.”

His eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You're doing this now? Because you're jealous again? Camille, don’t be unreasonable. We can still go through with the wedding. I can mark you whenever you want. But Esther needed me. I couldn’t just leave her.”

Unreasonable. The word stung more than it should have. He had called me that so many times I lost count. Was being patient unreasonable? Was watching the man I loved abandon me again and again while I smiled through clenched teeth supposed to be considered rational?

He had always called Esther his “sister,” and I had accepted that, foolishly. I had allowed her constant presence in our relationship. I let him bring her medicine, answer her calls in the middle of the night, and disappear when I needed him most—all because she was “fragile,” suffering from some rare wolf affliction that left her vulnerable and unhealed.

I mistook tolerance for strength. But it only broke me piece by piece.

“You can live however you want from now on,” I said, voice cold and final. “I don’t care anymore.”

I brushed past him with my suitcase, but he grabbed my wrist.

“Is your mother upset about what happened? I can explain everything to her.”

I stopped cold.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know she was gone.

My breath caught in my throat. Pain clawed up from my chest, but I kept it buried. If I showed weakness now, he’d only dismiss it like everything else.

I shook him off. “There’s no one left to explain anything to.”

He stared at me, stunned. He didn’t move as I walked out the door with the last of my heart.

But Esther wasn’t done. She placed a hand on his chest and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “This isn’t your fault, Israel. If her mother hadn’t faked being sick, you wouldn’t have felt pressured to commit.”

The world stopped spinning.

Before I knew it, my hand had struck her cheek with a satisfying crack.

She had crossed a line she never should have touched.