Page 65 of The Breaking Point

The words hit harder than I want to admit. Not because they’re cruel. Because they’re kind. Too kind.

I shift in my seat, try to swallow down the lump rising in my throat. Because no, I haven’t ever considered that I could be enough, not when I was never really there.

I was always working. Always chasing the next project, the next promotion, the next reason to believe I was doing right by them.

I thought money could fill the spaces I left empty.

Her trust. The kids’ love. I tried to buy what I should’ve been giving with my time. My presence. And now?

Now I’m not sure if I ever truly had a place in that life, I just funded it.

I glance at him, but nothing comes out. My mouth opens, but there’s no language for the ache that’s settling in.

So, I let the silence speak for me.

And he doesn’t rush to fill it.

He just sits there, still, patient. Like he knows the quiet is saying all the things I finally can’t ignore.

“What do I do now?” I ask. It comes out low, I don’t know if I'm asking him or myself.

He leans forward just slightly, his voice even. “You keep showing up. You keep working on yourself, on your relationship with your children, on your marriage.”

He pauses, lets that sink in before continuing.

“See, marriage isn’t a dish you cook once and forget about. It’s one you never stop stirring. If you walk away from the stove too long, it burns. Or goes cold. Either way… it won’t be what it could’ve been.”

He doesn’t say it with blame. Just truth.

And I nod, because I know exactly what he means.

“Will she ever forgive me?” I ask. “Can she?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies me for a beat before saying, quietly but clearly, “That’s a question I can’t answer. And truthfully… neither can she. Not yet.”

I feel my throat tighten, but I hold his gaze.

“You broke her trust,” he says. “And trust doesn’t rebuild itself. You have to be willing to fight for it consistently, patiently. Not with grand gestures, but with the kind of effort that shows up every single day. Even when it’s hard. Especially then.”

He lets the words settle between us.

“And even then,” he adds gently, “forgiveness isn’t guaranteed. But healing? That starts with you.”

He gives me a small nod, then leans back just a little, his voice softer now. "Now," he says, "tell me about your childhood."

And just like that, we’re not talking about Kate anymore. We’re talking about the boy who became the man who broke her.

Chapter 25

The thing about therapy?

It’s not instantaneous. It’s not quick. It’s sitting on a couch and choking on words you didn’t even know were still inside you. It’s peeling back layer after layer of stories you told yourself just to survive.

But eventually, everything comes to an end. Even the bleeding. Even the ache.

A lot has happened in the last month.

The best thing? Markus came home. He’s injured in ways we can’t see. The kind that doesn’t show up in MRIs or X-rays. But Quinn’s been with him every second, and we can do nothing but hope he’s going to be okay. Not whole, maybe, but healing.

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