Chapter 47: Chapter 47

"You can't keep punishing yourself," Emma said softly. "That doesn't help me heal. It doesn't undo what happened. It just creates more trauma."

"I'm starting to see that." I looked down at our joined hands. "Emma, I want to fix us. Want to fix me. But I don't know how. Don't know where to start."

"We start with therapy," she said. "Individual sessions to work on our own trauma. Then maybe couples therapy to work on us. And Jeremy-" Her voice became firm. "You have to commit to this. Really commit. Not just go through the motions because you think it's what I want to hear."

"I'm committed," I said immediately. "Emma, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I destroyed it through selfishness and stupidity. If therapy is what it takes to become someone worthy of you, someone who won't hurt you again, then I'll do whatever Dr. Chen tells me to do."

"Even if it means confronting things you'd rather avoid?" she challenged. "Even if it means admitting things about yourself that are uncomfortable?"

I thought about that. About the version of me who'd had the affair, who'd gaslit Emma, who'd planned to use her as a broodmare. That person was ugly, cruel, unworthy.

But that person was still me. Part of me. And I couldn't change if I didn't acknowledge him.

"Yes," I said. "Even then. Especially then."

Emma was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay. I'll call Dr. Chen today. Set up appointments for both of us."

Relief washed over me so intensely I almost couldn't breathe. "Thank you. For giving me this chance. For not giving up on us."

"I haven't decided anything yet," she cautioned. "Therapy is a starting point, not a solution. We still have a long way to go. You still have to earn back my trust."

"I know. And I will. However long it takes."

"It might take a long time, Jeremy. Months. Maybe years. Can you be patient with that? Can you accept that I might need to pull back sometimes, might need space even while we're working on this?"

Could I? The thought of Emma pulling away, even temporarily, made my wolf whine with distress. But if that's what she needed to heal, if that's what it took for us to build something real-

"Yes," I said. "I can be patient. I can give you space when you need it. Because Emma, I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this for the long haul, whatever that looks like."

A small smile crossed her face-the first real smile I'd seen from her in what felt like forever. "Good. Because I'm going to hold you to that."

"Please do."

She leaned forward, her free hand coming up to cup my face. The touch was gentle, careful, but it made my heart race. "We're going to take this slow," she said. "One day at a time. One therapy session at a time. No rushing, no pressure, no expectations beyond showing up and doing the work."

"One day at a time," I agreed. "I can do that."

"And Jeremy? If you ever push yourself like you did yesterday-if you ever put proving a point above taking care of yourself-I will walk away. Permanently. Because I can't watch you destroy yourself. Can't be with someone who values punishment over healing."

The ultimatum was clear, and she meant every word. I could see it in her eyes.

"I understand. And I promise I'll take care of myself. Will listen to doctors. Will ask for help when I need it instead of trying to do everything alone."

"Good." She settled back in her chair but kept hold of my hand. "Now rest. Dr. Reeves said you need at least another week in the hospital before they'll even consider discharge."

A week. A week of Emma by my bedside, of slow healing, of beginning the long journey toward becoming someone worthy of her love.

It wasn't ideal. It wasn't what I'd wanted when I'd pushed to testify.

But it was a start.

And starts were what we needed.

"Emma?" I said as my eyes started to drift closed again.

"Yeah?"

"I love you. I know I've said it before, and I know words are cheap after what I did. But I need you to know-I love you. The real you. Not the fantasy I had or the obligation of the bond. You."

She was quiet for so long I thought maybe I'd said too much, pushed too hard.

Then: "I know. And Jeremy? I love you too. I'm still hurt. Still angry. Still scared. But I love you. That's why I'm here. Why I'm willing to try."

My chest felt too full, like my heart might burst from the relief and hope and love threatening to overflow.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Don't thank me yet," she said, but her voice was soft. "We have a lot of work ahead of us."

"I'm ready for it."

"We'll see."

I fell asleep to the sound of her breathing, her hand in mine, and for the first time in months, I felt something that wasn't guilt or regret or self-loathing.

I felt hope.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, love and therapy and commitment really could be enough.

Hope that Emma and I could find our way back to each other.

Hope that I could become the mate she deserved instead of the one who'd destroyed her.

It was a fragile hope. Uncertain. Terrifying in its vulnerability.

But it was there.

And right now, that was everything.