Page 48 of The Breaking Point

I nod slowly, trying to imagine what that looks like. Choosing to see him now, instead of who he was.

“Tonight’s date?” he says gently. “It isn’t about who you were. It’s about who you’re becoming. Together, if you let it be.”

He smiles gently. “Can I offer a suggestion for the date?”

I nod, not sure what to expect.

“Start with curiosity,” he says. “Ask each other questions you haven’t asked in years. Not about the kids, not about the schedules, but about each other. What dreams feel out of reach right now? What scares you lately? What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but never said out loud?”

I blink. “That feels... kind of intense.”

He chuckles softly. “It doesn’t have to be all at once. Keep it light, playful if that feels safer. But the point is, don’t just talk. Listen. Really listen to who Aiden is today. And let him see who you are too.”

He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Connection doesn’t just happen. It’s built in the small, intentional moments. So tonight, make it about rediscovering, not fixing.”

I sit back, holding that in my chest.Rediscovering.That sounds less exhausting than repairing.

Dr. Brett shifts in his seat, watching me gently. “Did you write the letters? To your parents? To your younger self?”

I let out a breath. “It kind of turned into a journal, honestly. Just pages and pages of everything they missed. The things they forgot, the ways they didn’t show up. All the birthdays, the school things, the silence.”

“And how did it feel,” he asks, “writing it all down?”

I nod slowly, looking at my hands. “It felt good. Like I was screaming into the paper. Like I didn’t have to keep it all in anymore. It was… therapeutic.”

He chuckles softly. “And what did you say to your parents, in the letter?”

I hesitate. “Well. My father had a heart attack. The day before yesterday. That’s why I cancelled yesterday’s session.”

Dr. Brett straightens a little. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine now,” I say. “But apparently almost dying made him realize he wants a relationship with me. Or something like that.”

“And what did you say to him?”

I shrug. “I told him it wasn’t enough. That saying he ‘chose me when I was born’ isn’t enough to make up for a lifetime of neglect.”

Dr. Brett tilts his head, confused. So I tell him what my father told me about circumstances surrounding my birth and the first year of my life.

“Why did that make you angry?”

I swallow, letting the answer rise slowly. “Because it’s not an apology. It’s just a reason. What, am I supposed to be fine with everything now because he had a reason? Because hemeantto love me but just didn’t know how?”

He lets that hang there for a moment. Then he says, “What’s holding you back from having a relationship with your parents now?”

I hesitate. “Nothing.”

Dr. Brett just looks at me. That quiet, waiting look that always makes it harder to lie to myself.

I close my eyes. “I don’t trust them, okay? They left once. They’ll leave again. Or die. And then I’ll be left… what? Hurting again? Why let them in if they’re just going to go?”

He asks softly, “Do you love them?”

I don’t answer right away. “I guess. They’re my… parents.”

“And?”

“I’m scared,” I admit. “I’m scared of what they’ll do to me if I let them close. If I believe they’ve changed and then they prove me wrong.”

---