Page 21 of The Breaking Point

Dr. Brett doesn’t say anything. He just lets it hang there, waiting for me. Doesn’t rush in to fix it or make it prettier.

I keep going because if I stop, I’ll cry.

“You wanna know what he got me for Mother’s Day last year?” I don’t expect an answer, “he sent me to spend the day with his mom and mine. His mother hates me. Always has. And mine? Mine barely treated me like a daughter. But Aiden thought it was sweet. ‘Girl time,’ he called it. Like I was some character in a sitcom. He never asked how it made me feel. He just... assumed I’d suck it up. And I did.”

I draw a breath. It’s hard to breathe when the truth feels like smoke in your throat.

“Even our ten-year anniversary,” I whisper. “I wanted something small. Just us. I told him I wanted to go away, just the two of us, somewhere quiet. An island. Our first real vacation together after our honeymoon.”

I laugh under my breath, the bitter kind that tastes more like regret than humour. “He wouldn’t even think about it. So, I just bought the tickets, told him they were non-refundable. I had to strong-arm my own husband into going on vacation with me.”

I glance up, then back down again. The memory stings.

“He wanted the party, he wanted it big. Flashy. Rented out a venue, invited everyone we knew. Said ten years deserved a celebration. And maybe he was right, maybe that’s what people do. But I had to fight to get him to commit to one week alone with me in Bora Bora. I practically had to guilt him into it.”

Dr. Brett watches me carefully, not judging, not leading. Just holding space.

“And now?” he asks softly.

“Now he’s in a hotel somewhere,” I say, voice tightening. “And I’m hiding out in my best friend’s house because I don’t want my kids to know. And I don’t want to lie to them either. I don’t even know what to say yet.”

I blink quickly, eyes hot but dry. I’m too tired to cry.

Dr. Brett speaks gently. “It sounds like for a long time, you made space for everyone else’s comfort, his, your kids’, your families’ but not your own.”

I look down at my hands. “I didn’t know I was allowed to have any.”

He nods. “You are. You’ve always been allowed. You just weren’t told.”

I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know if I’ll stay or go, forgive or walk away. But I had no idea I needed someone to say it, to tell me I was allowed to want more, to expect more. To demand it, even.

It hits me then, not like a crash but like the slow, aching swell of something rising in my chest. I’ve been waiting for permissionall this time. From Aiden. From life. From the version of myself that learned to be grateful for scraps.

Dr. Brett’s voice is warm but firm. “Kate, I’m afraid we’re out of time for today. But I’d really encourage you to come back. I think we’ve barely scratched the surface. You’ve been carrying a lot. You deserve the space to work through it.”

I nod quickly. “I’d like to make another appointment.”

He gives me a soft smile, one that doesn’t try to cheer me up but feels genuine. “I’m glad to hear that. And if you’re open to it, I want to suggest something else.”

I shift slightly on the couch, unsure. “Okay.”

“If there’s any part of you considering couples therapy down the road, even if it’s just to get some clarity on the relationship or closure,” Dr. Brett says, “I’d recommend your husband see someone individually as well. Therapy only works when both people are doing the internal work. And from what I’ve heard today, it sounds like you both became adults quite young. In order for any relationship to work, the partners have to understand their own needs before they can even hope to fulfil someone else’s. I can recommend someone to him if you want,” he continues. “Or he can see one of our in-house therapists. We offer both couples and individual sessions. Sometimes it helps to have a team who can coordinate, but it’s totally your choice.”

I take a breath, feeling my ribs expand and ache all at once.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. “I don’t even know if he’d go.”

“Then let that be his decision,” Dr. Brett says gently. “You’ve already started the hard part, you showed up. Let him decide if he’s ready to do the same.”

I nod again, slower this time.

And as I stand and gather my things, I feel… not better, exactly. But less alone in the mess. A little more upright. A little more real.

Chapter 9

The line barely rings once before Aiden picks up.

“Kate. Hey. Hi.”

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