Page 44 of The Breaking Point

“I had no idea,” I say slowly. “Is that why you barely came home after Alex was born?”

He nods. “That. And… every time I did come home, it felt like I was in the way. Like you didn’t really want me around. So I picked up a weekend job. And nights. Just stayed away.”

“I didn’t…” I trail off, staring at the space between us. “When you left for college, people started warning me. They said college changes boys. That they meet new people. Different kinds of people. That I should stop complaining. That I shouldn’t be a nag. That I needed to make home feel good so you’d want to come back.”

I take a shaky breath. “So, I stopped telling you the bad stuff. I stopped asking you to help on your days off. I tried to make everything easy for you.”

He looks up sharply. “Wait. Who said that? About my days off?”

“What?” I blink at the sudden edge in his voice.

He presses, firmer now. “Who told you I needed rest on my days off? That you shouldn’t burden me?”

I say nothing.

His mouth tightens. “It was my mom, wasn’t it?”

I don’t answer.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “God. I remember… when you started pulling away, I went to her. I asked her how to talk to you, how to reach you. She told me it was normal. That you were just nesting. That I should give you space. Let you handle it.”

He looks away. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

I finally say what I should have said years ago. “I thought you were tired of me. Of us. I know what everyone thought when I got pregnant again so soon after Jack. I heard the whispers. I felt the stares.”

This time, when he reaches for my hand, I don’t pull away.

He squeezes gently. “When will you understand that I love you? That I would never leave you. Or the boys. You’re not a burden, Kate. You never were. And if I remember correctly,” he tries a small smile, “I was the genius who said you couldn’t get pregnant while breastfeeding.”

I let out a shaky breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. The truth is, I remember that moment too. I remember believing him. Trusting him. Back when everything still felt new and possible.

Dr. Claudia waits, letting the silence stretch just long enough to allow the weight of what was said to settle. Then softly, she says, “There’s a lot of history between you both. Pain, yes. But also love. That much is clear.”

She looks between us.

“Aiden, what you said just now,‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’that’s a belief many partners carry. But doing the ‘right thing’ on paper doesn’t always meet the emotional needs of a relationship. Providing is important, but presence is more than physical.”

Then her gaze shifts to me.

“And Kate, when you said you thought he was tired of you… that’s a story you’ve carried alone for years. That kind of silence is heavy. It distorts everything, even the love that’s still there.”

She leans forward just slightly. “This isn’t about blame anymore. It’s about learning how to speak the truth before the resentment takes root. You’re both doing that now, maybe for the first time in a long time.”

Then, gently: “How does it feel to finally say these things out loud?”

Aiden shifts beside me, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… a lot. I didn’t know she felt that way. That I made her feel that way.” He looks at me, eyes soft but unsure. “I thought I was showing up. I thought working hard meant I was loving her right.”

I keep my gaze low, focusing on the grain in the couch cushion. “And I thought keeping quiet was the only way to keep you. I didn’t want to be the needy wife. The one who nags or complains. I kept thinking if I just made things easier for you, you’d want to come home more.”

Dr. Claudia’s voice is calm. “It sounds like both of you were trying to protect each other, in very different ways. And in doing that, you stopped sharing what you really needed.”

I nod slowly. “I think I stopped needing anything. Or I pretended I didn’t. I just focused on the boys.”

Aiden’s voice cracks slightly. “I didn’t know. I wish I’d known.”

Dr. Claudia doesn’t interrupt the moment. She lets the silence hold again, then says gently, “That’s the grief of it, isn’t it? What wasn’t said. What wasn’t asked. But the fact that you’re saying it now means it isn’t too late. Unless you choose for it to be.”

She leans forward just a little more. “So, what do you each need now? Right now. In this moment.”

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