Page 16 of The Breaking Point

I was the weird new girl who showed up in the middle of the semester, right when everyone already had their friend groups and inside jokes and cafeteria seating arrangements. People didn’t bother to be subtle. They whispered as I passed. Some turned to stare. I heard the word charity case once, muttered behind a locker door. Another time, someone asked if I was “the one with the parents who ran off to Greece.”

I thought I’d hate every minute of high school. And for a while, I did.

Then Aiden looked at me.

I don’t even know if he meant to. He was just there one day in biology, sitting next to me with his dark hair falling into his eyes and his notebook full of formulas I couldn’t understand. He was smart. Stupid smart. And somehow, he was also one of the hottest guys in school. Not the loud, cocky kind. Quiet. Funny. A little shy.

When he asked me out, I said yes so fast I tripped over the word. I felt chosen. Not the accident. Not the afterthought. Chosen.

And that feeling, it filled something I hadn’t even realized was empty.

That’s the part that hurts the most now. Not the lie. Not even the betrayal. It’s that the one person I thought saw me didn’t really see me at all.

I turn toward the wall, the pillow cool against my cheek. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Just the memory of my mother’s voice in the kitchen, laughing about the baby they didn’t want, and the man who made me feel wanted, for a while, before turning into someone who lied so easily, I started questioning whether I ever knew him at all.

Maybe Quinn’s right. Maybe it’s time to talk about it. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending the past didn’t leave its mark.

Maybe I’m finally ready to see it.

All of it.

Chapter 7

The next morning or maybe it’s already afternoon, I wake up with a headache that could kill a small animal and a heart that feels like it was scraped raw. I'm hungover, heartsick, and heavy with memories I wish I could forget.

I love Aiden. I really do. But I’ve put up with so much. And it’s not all his fault. I shaped our relationship into what it became. I made it too easy for him. He could do nothing wrong and I’d still worship him. That’s not love. That’s desperation.

When he first went off to college and I was pregnant with Jackson, he came home every weekend. Even if he had class early Monday, he’d hop on a late-night bus just to be with me. And I told him not to. I told him to enjoy college, to have fun. I didn’t want to be a burden. And slowly, his visits lessened. I didn’t say a word. I let that silence rot inside me until it hardened into resentment.

I had no idea how much it all bothered me until last night. I thought we had the perfect marriage, or close to it. At least, I thought it was better than most. Not many high school relationships survive two kids before you’re even old enough to legally drink. We did. Or so I thought.

When I found out I was pregnant with Jack, it felt like a bomb had gone off inside my body. My first instinct was abortion. Not because I didn’t want him, but because I didn’t want him to feel unwanted. I didn’t want my child to grow up knowing they weren’t planned, that they were a mistake. That’s why I gave Aiden the chance to leave. No strings. No guilt. I wanted our baby to be loved, not tolerated.

Telling Aiden had not been easy. I had expected him to leave, had prepared for it but he didn’t. He asked me what I wanted and told me he’d support me no matter what. And he did, almost. But telling my grandmother… that was terrifying. She’d raised me with the love I never got from my parents. She was a veteran nurse, stern and practical, and when I told her I might have to postpone college, I could see the storm gathering behind her eyes. But when I told her I was ready for this, that I wanted this baby, she softened. She let me stay. She let me raise Jack in her home even after I graduated, even though the plan had always been for me to go to UMass.

Telling my parents wasn’t even an event. My grandmother told them for me. Their reply came in a text. “Are you sure about this?” That was it. I never responded. They didn’t come around until Grandma died, when Jack was four. They showed up to the funeral, saw the only grandchildren they’d ever have already grown, and decided to stay. But the house was mine. Grandma left it to me, and I wasn’t about to let them move in. They foundtheir own place, finally understanding the distance they’d carved between us. I wasn’t the girl begging for their love anymore.

We could afford daycare by then, but they insisted on helping, said they wanted to get to know the boys. I let them. At the end of the day, they’re family. I’d rather my kids be surrounded by family than strangers.

Enough moping. I get up and head to the shower. The water is hot, soothing. I take longer than I should, letting the steam clear my mind. I borrow jeans and a shirt from Quinn, she’s a little shorter than me, but they fit well enough. I can’t bring myself to wear dresses right now.

Quinn’s in the kitchen when I come down. She looks up from her mug.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I answer. My voice still sounds cracked.

“How you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday. Sorry about dumping all that on you.”

She waves it off. “Please. I should be the one apologizing. I practically threw my degree at your face.”

I smile faintly. “I needed to hear it. I was living in a bubble and it finally popped.”

She nods. “Have you come any closer to a decision?”

“I don’t think I’ll know what I want for a while. I already texted the kids. They’re having a blast with their grandparents.”

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