Page 67 of Breaking
“I know we haven’t really… faced what happened. The miscarriage. We never talked about what it meant to both of us. I can’t stop thinking about the way I just shut you out, how I wasn’t there.”
The memory still stung, raw and painful.
Troy reached out, his fingers sliding into her hair, gently pulling her forward and pressing his forehead to hers. The closeness made her heart stutter.
“A lot of things I’ve done are unforgivable,” he murmured, eyes closed as though in silent confession. “But I can’t change the way I behaved. All I can do is tell you I’m ready to talk. All of it-what it did to you, to us. We’ll face it together, if you’ll let me.”
Jenna closed her eyes, fighting the tears threatening to spill.
“It still hurts, Troy,” she whispered. “Sometimes I think it always will.”
“I know,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to see her face. “And I would like to tell you my side of things. If you would let me.”
There was a moment of perfect stillness, each with their own thoughts. Then, Jenna stepped back.
She glanced at her watch. "I should go start lunch."
Troy reached out, stopping her gently. "Wait. I need to ask you something."
She turned back, curiosity flickering in her gaze.
"I saw you with a man yesterday," he said, his voice quieter now. " He kissed you. And it hurt so badly. I know you want to get separated, but please, can you... not. Not yet?"
Guilt twisted inside her, just as it had when she wanted to kiss Adam back. "Troy, we are getting divorced."
He met her gaze, desperation and determination mingling in his expression. "Please... twenty weeks. You can give me twenty weeks."
The moment stretched like a rubber band, ready to snap.
Finally, she whispered, "Okay." And for the first time in too many years, she wondered if maybe-just maybe-change was possible.
Chapter 54
Jenna
Jenna's heels clicked against the pavement as she walked back to the house. The balmy summer afternoon wrapped around her like a warm embrace, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air. Her mind was a whirlwind, tangled in thoughts she didn't want to untangle. She had promised Troy twenty weeks. Twenty weeks to figure out if there was anything left to salvage. But now, with each step back home, she felt the threads of obligation loosening. Indecision set in.
She climbed the porch steps, her fingers tightening around the key. As she pushed the door open, she caught sight of Troy standing at his doorstep, watching her. His posture was tense as if he had been waiting for her to look back at him.
Jenna ignored the pang of familiarity, the way his presence still had the power to send a ripple through her resolve. She walked in without acknowledging him, closing the door behind her and locking out whatever it was he had been hoping for.
Inside, the house was quiet. Peaceful. It was a silence she had come to relish. No more strained conversations, no more waiting for a man who had long since stopped choosing her. She had begun to love the single life. Sleeping in without guilt, eating whatever she wanted without the pressure of expectations. She didn't have to stress about in-laws, or about whether her husband was thinking about another woman. If he was, he was. It didn't matter anymore.
Jenna hung her keys in the keyholder and happened to see her own image in the hallway mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, absently noting the strands of silver that had started appearing near her temples. She had stopped covering them up. Stopped scrutinizing the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Stopped sucking in her stomach whenever she caught her reflection. Her bum was a little bigger than she would have liked, but she didn't care. She liked this new version of herself. A woman who had left a bad situation and found that she could stand on her own just fine.
No messages from Troy so far. He seemed to be giving her space. Good.
She had to cook, but the thought of putting in any effort exhausted her. Yesterday's chicken rice and salad would do just fine. But first, the one place where time slipped away-her studio.
Jenna stepped into the room, inhaling the faint scent of charcoal and paper, the pungent odour of linseed oil and paint. Her latest work-a charcoal drawing of Maisie, Grace's daughter, feeding the swans-sat unfinished on the easel. She settled onto the stool, her fingers itching to bring the scene to life. An hour passed in a blink, lost in the familiar rhythm of shading and softening lines. When she finally looked up, the house was still quiet. Almost time for Dani to get back from school.
She moved to the kitchen, pulling vegetables from the fridge, chopping with the mindless efficiency of habit. Her mind wandered next door. As she diced carrots for soup, the front door creaked open.
"Jenna, someone left this on the doorstep." Dani's voice was curious, a package wrapped in brown paper cradled in her arms.
Jenna wiped her hands on a dish towel before taking it, a small note slipping to the floor as she did. Dani leaned against the counter, watching expectantly as Jenna unwrapped the package. Inside, a small bouquet of daisies tied with a string. Beneath them, a set of brushes-pristine, elegant, housed in a leather roll that smelled of new beginnings.
She lifted one of the brushes, testing the weight between her fingers. The bristles felt like silk, firm yet yielding, the copper ferrules sturdy against the delicate wood. A high-quality set, something an artist would choose for themselves. A flicker of pleasure strummed through her.
