Page 28 of The Breaking Point

Aiden comes upstairs while I’m pulling back the sheets. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, like he’s not sure what to say or where to go. I pretend not to notice.

Stepping inside, he heads straight to the closet. I hear the familiar slide of a hanger, the soft rustle of clothes, the muted clink of his belt hitting the doorknob as he strips down. Then the bathroom light flicks on. Water runs. He brushes his teeth. I slip under the covers, my back to the door.

I would almost be fine with all of it, this quiet choreography of cohabitation, if he would just stop talking.

“So,” he says through the bathroom door, “I went to Orange Cove today.”

I don’t respond. My hands grip the edge of the blanket.

“The people there were really kind,” he continues, like we’re catching up after a normal day. “Even had a session with a woman doctor. That was… interesting.”

The bathroom light goes off. He walks into the room, climbs into bed on the other side without missing a beat.

“I figured we’ll go to the hospital together in the morning,” he says, settling in, “then head to our joint appointment after.”

I roll over just enough to glare at him. “What are you doing?”

He blinks at me. “Getting in bed.”

“No,” I snap. “Why are you talking to me like everything’s fine? Like we’re fine?”

He exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “Kate, I was just trying to, I don’t know… talk. Wehaveto talk about this.”

“This isn’t something I’ll just get over bytalkingabout it,” I bite out. “You don’t get to smooth it over with a few check-ins and therapy sessions. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. Let me.”

His mouth opens, then shuts again. For once, he doesn’t argue.

I reach behind my head, pull the pillow out from under my neck, and shove it down between us. A soft wall. A clear line. My very own Great Wall of China.

He gets the message and neither of us says another word.

Chapter 11

Pancakes.

I wake up to the smell of pancakes and for a split second, I forget everything. My first thought is Jack. Maybe Alex if I'm lucky. One of them must be downstairs, flipping pancakes like it’s Mother’s Day.

The other side of the bed is empty. No surprise. Aiden’s probably holed up in his office, pretending he’s busy enough to justify not being here. Maybe it’s finally time I get a couch in there. A real one. One he can sleep on.

I take my time in the bathroom, trying not to rush toward the smell of warm sugar and butter. But I’m already smiling as I head down the stairs, ready to thank Jack or hug Alex or both.

Only… it’s not them.

It’s Aiden.

He’s standing at the stove, spatula in hand, wearing one of the old NASA shirts that’s seen too many washes. I stop short, just barely inside the room. I think the last time he cooked for me was before COVID. Back when he actually tried.

I remember how he isolated in the dorms next to the NASA offices during that first wave. They were on some impossible deadline and couldn’t afford to go home and get sick. He was gone for weeks. The kids and I turned the house into a fort, ordered pizza too much, danced in the kitchen with music way too loud. We laughed so hard some nights I forgot to be lonely.

I start to take a step back, thinking maybe I can still pretend I never came down here. But then I hear footsteps behind me.

Alex. He pads in slowly, rubbing one eye, still half-asleep. “Ma, you made pancakes?”

I shake my head. “No, sweetheart. Your dad did.”

Alex pauses in the middle of the room, clearly trying to make sense of it. “Dad can cook.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking. Having no other choice, I walk into the kitchen beside him.

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