Diagnosed With Cancer, I Got My True Mate

I'm sprawled on the couch, phone pressed to my ear, telling Mike I'm heading back to our old stomping grounds by the end of the month. For good. "Keep a spot open for me at your diner, man."

Mike Ramirez's voice crackles through, shock clear as day. "What? You're coming back? After all you did for that little pup Natalie Brooks, the one you busted your tail to put through school? She's the youngest professor at the university now, Sam! You worked odd jobs for years to get her there, and now that you've finally made it, you're ditching Argentum Town to come back to our little nowhere? What's the deal? Did she do you dirty?"

"Nah, she's been good to me," I cut him off, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of my phone. "I'm just done with Argentum Town."

"What about Natalie? She coming with you?"

My breath catches for a second. The sunset outside stretches my shadow long and lonely across the wall. "No," I say, my voice steady despite the ache. "Just me. She's staying here, ready to form a sacred bond, start a pack, live a new life."

I hang up, and my phone buzzes almost instantly. A text from Brandon Whitmore: Sam, you sure about this?

My thumb hovers over the screen for what feels like forever before I type back, I'm sure. I'm leaving Natalie.

Natalie.

Just saying her name, letting it roll off my tongue, sends a warm pang through my chest.

I still remember the first time I saw her. High school, freshman year, at the opening ceremony. She was up there as the student speaker, rocking her crisp uniform, standing in the sunlight. Her voice was cool, clear, and damn near musical. Every wolf in school had a crush on her. Top grades, killer looks-she was the pack's pride, untouchable.

Me? I was just Sam Whitaker, a scrappy pup from the orphanage, grades as average as they come. Didn't even have the guts to talk to her.

Then sophomore year hit, and everything changed.

Word got out that Natalie was an illegitimate pup. Her mom's scandalous photos got plastered all over school. Overnight, she went from pack darling to outcast. Shunned, humiliated, driven to the edge-literally. She tried to drown herself in the river.

I was the one who pulled her out.

That night, soaked to the bone, her eyes hollow, she looked at me and asked, "Why'd you save me?"

I didn't have an answer. All I could do was hold her hand tight, terrified that if I let go, she'd slip away for good.

After that, we were inseparable, holed up in a cramped ten-square-foot rental, just the two of us against the world. When college acceptance letters came, we could only afford one tuition. I stepped back without a second thought.

"Why?" she asked.

I grinned, playing it off. "My grades are meh, and I got into some no-name school. You're the star here. Go shine. Don't worry about living expenses-I'm pulling three jobs. I got you."

She went quiet for a long time before saying, "Sam, I'll make sure you live a good life."

And she did. She blazed through school, skipped grades, earned her PhD, and by twenty-four, she was the youngest professor at a top university, hailed as a "genius scholar." We moved out of that tiny rental into a fancy riverfront condo. I thought we'd finally made it, that the hard times were behind us.

Then I saw her phone.

Brandon. The dean's son. Handsome, brilliant, the kind of wolf who lights up a room. He'd been texting her nonstop.

Lab experiment tanked again. I'm bummed.

Brought you coffee, left it in your office.

Why aren't you texting back? Hate me or what?

Her replies were always short, distant. But when Brandon pushed, she finally said, I don't hate you. I just don't know how to deal with wolves.

The next day, out of nowhere, she asked me, "What kind of gift makes a wolf happy?"

That question hit like a claw to the gut.

All these years, I'd thought about telling her how I felt. But she was always buried in books or experiments, so I kept my feelings locked away. Now, it was clear: what she felt for me was gratitude, not love.

Not long after, Brandon tracked me down. He showed up with a folder full of copies of those same photos that had ruined her mom years ago.

"Natalie's half-brother wants to destroy her again," he said. "I stopped him. For now."

He looked me dead in the eye. "Sam, Natalie and I are meant to be mates. But she's too loyal to you, too bound by gratitude to say yes to me. She's stuck by your side."

He leaned in. "You can't protect her. If you stay, those photos will get out, and everything she's built will come crashing down. But if you let her go, I'll keep her safe. I'll make sure she rises to the top."

That night, I sat on the balcony, staring at the moon until dawn. By morning, I'd made my choice.

He was right. I couldn't protect her. And deep down, I knew she didn't love me.

Leaving was the only way.

Letting go felt like the right call. No more waiting up under a dim lamp, worrying when she'd get home. No more watching her, the genius scholar, ask how to charm another wolf while I swallowed my pain. No more hoping, day after day, that she'd turn around and see me.

A sharp pain in my stomach yanks me out of my thoughts. I curl up on the floor, cold sweat soaking through my shirt. The pill bottle's on the coffee table, but I can't even reach for it.

The door clicks open. Natalie bursts in, sees me crumpled on the floor, and her face goes pale. She rushes over, hauling me up with effort and easing me onto the bed, her touch gentle but firm.

"Where's your medicine?" Her voice is sharp with worry as she rummages through drawers. "Where'd we put those stomach pills?"

I point weakly at the drawer. She grabs the bottle, pours a glass of water, and hands it to me like she's done it a hundred times. I sip slowly, muttering, "Thanks. Sorry for the hassle."

"It's no hassle," she snaps, frowning. "You know you've got a bad stomach. Why didn't you take your meds?"

Back when I was working three jobs to keep her in school, I'd skip meals, surviving on one a day. Wrecked my stomach for good. Whenever it flared up, she'd hold me close, rubbing my stomach until I drifted off.

This time, when she reaches for me, I push her away gently.

She freezes, her brows knitting together.

"Natalie, I-"

Her phone cuts me off. Brandon.

"Hey," she answers, her eyes still on me. "Meteor shower? Now? .Alright."

She hangs up, grabs her coat. "I've got to step out. Rest up, okay?"

Her tall, graceful figure heads for the door, overlapping with the memory of that rain-soaked pup I pulled from the river years ago. I open my mouth to say, I'm going back home, but the words don't come.

The door shuts softly, but it hits like a sledgehammer to my chest. I'm alone in the dark, the clock striking midnight.

In the fridge, there's a birthday cake I bought. Natalie never remembers my birthday, but every year, I make a quiet wish.

This year, I only wish for one thing: that when I'm gone, Natalie finds happiness.

In the flickering candlelight, I see her again-that rain-drenched she-wolf, her lashes wet, her eyes brighter than any star.

She's the most beautiful meteor I've ever seen.