Page 83 of What We Broke

I’m beginning to like therapy day.

When I demanded that Leo and I see Dr. Sosa, I had no expectations. I’d just grabbed on to her like a lifeline, hoping that even if he and I couldn’t work it out, that at least she could try and get through to help him.

Now that we’re coming out on the other side, I hate to think of where we would be without Dr. Sosa; as individuals and as husbands.

“Jesse,” Dr. Sosa greets. “You’re looking well today.”

“I’m feeling well,” I admit. “Leo’s just on the phone, he’ll be in in a second.”

“I’m so glad you two are still choosing to continue with therapy,” she praises. “Sometimes after such great major breakthroughs it’s so easy to feel on top of the world and stop it completely.”

Leo and I have spoken about continuing therapy. Individually, I know he is one hundred percent committed to the cause. Between his determination not to drink, and his dedication to his grief and loss journey, I couldn’t be more proud. As a couple, neither of us think we need to come too often, but we agree that checking in every month with Dr. Sosa, for the time being, couldn’t hurt.

“How’s Raine?” she asks. “And Zara?”

Frequent therapy means your therapist knows your entire family by their first names. “They’re good. The four of us seem to have found a nice balance of things.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Leo walks in and takes a seat beside me.

The man he was when we started and the man he is today, are night and day. And I’m falling more in love with the new version of my husband every damn day.

His thigh presses into mine, his hand resting on my knee, and I revel at the fact that only weeks ago, he and I would sit on opposite sides of the room.

“How’re things going for you both?” Dr. Sosa asks, our check-in sessions much more laid back than they used to be.

“We’re goo—”

“We’re good,” Leo says, interrupting me. “But there is something I want to talk about.”

I feel myself frown, wondering why he didn’t say anything beforehand.

He squeezes my knee, attempting to reassure me. “We have never broached the topic of having more kids.”

My hand covers his, and on instinct we both shift on the couch to face one another.

His eyes are apprehensive when he starts talking. “I would be lying if I said it doesn’t break my heart that I don’t get to watch you be a father to another child of ours.”

“Leo.” I shake my head, needing him to hear this sooner rather than later. “Baby, I know what you’re going to say and I’m already with you.”

“You are?” he asks incredulously.

“I don’t want to risk putting us through anything like this ever again.” I tap at my chest. “I can’t do that again.”

I watch his whole body exhale in relief. “Are you sure?” he asks again.

“Do you remember why we went with surrogacy?” I prompt. I don’t wait for him to answer. “We got lucky. And I know how weird it sounds to say that, after everything we’ve been through, but it’s true.

“We were so lucky to have Zara. She was able to donate her eggs, she agreed to be our surrogate, and we had sperm.”

“Well…” He tries to interrupt.

“Okay, fine.” I roll my eyes. “I had sperm. We didn’t have to go through the process of finding someone or searching for egg donors or anything, really. It was within our reach, so we went with it.”

“There are so many ways to have a family,” I continue. “But for us, at the time, it was the most accessible option.”

“And now, you’re just okay with no more kids?” he asks.

“I’m okay with waiting and deciding how the next year is.” I half stand off the couch before holding his hands and kneeling in front of him. “I’m okay with making my husband and his mental health a priority. I’m okay with makingmymental health a priority. I’m okay with admitting defeat and saying that maybe some things aren’t for us.

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