Page 71 of Breaking
He looked down at his hands, curling them into fists. “And I didn’t even respond the right way afterwards. I was detached. I said something about not dwelling. About how it was early, how these things happen. God.”
Dr. Morgan’s voice was quiet. “You weren’t ready.”
Troy let out a bitter breath. “No. I wasn’t. I don’t deal well with surprises. I never did. That pregnancy-it wasn’t planned. And my first reaction wasn’t joy. It was panic. I let her feel that. I didn’t celebrate with her. And by the time I started to imagine another child-to want it-it was already over. And that hurt.”
He glanced up, eyes burning. “And she withdrew. Slowly. Quietly. And I didn’t know how to reach her. So, I went back to work. Hid behind it. It was easier than watching her fall apart and not knowing how to help.”
Dr. Morgan leaned forward slightly. “Have you ever considered that Jenna may have been suffering from postnatal depression? Or more accurately in her case-post-miscarriage depression?”
Troy blinked. “That’s… that’s a thing?”
Dr. Morgan nodded. “Absolutely. We don’t talk about it as much as we should, but depression following miscarriage is very real. The hormonal shifts, the grief, the isolation-it doesn’t require a full-term delivery to leave lasting emotional wounds.”
Troy’s face tightened with remorse. “I didn’t know. I just thought she was… coping. Or not coping. I didn’t think of it as something which had a name.”
Dr. Morgan gave him a moment, then said, “How do you feel now, hearing that?”
“Worse,” Troy said honestly. “Because now I know what I was missing. What I should have paid attention to. I thought I was giving her space, but really, I was just… absent.”
Silence stretched again. Not empty. Full of the weight between memory and realization.
Troy’s voice softened. “I’m going to talk to her about it. About what it meant-to both of us. She’s not the only one who lost something. But she’s the one who went through it alone. And I let that happen.”
Dr. Morgan nodded slowly. “That’s a good place to start.”
Troy rubbed his jaw, thoughtful. “I don’t know if she’ll want to hear it. But I have to say it anyway. She deserves to hear it.”
He stood slowly, gathering his coat. Before he left, he paused by the door.
“I know a lot of what I’ve done isn’t forgivable,” he said, voice rough. “But I can’t change the way I behaved back then. What I can do is own it. And talk about it. Really talk. That’s where I’ll start.”
Dr. Morgan offered a quiet nod.
Chapter 56
Jenna
Jenna stretched as she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine as she set it to brew. She leaned against the counter, considering breakfast. Maybe eggs and toast? Or pancakes? Something sweet sounded good.
She glanced down at herself-tatty t-shirt, joggers, and her old bunny rabbit slippers. Comfortable, worn, and not exactly dignified. But it was Saturday, and she had nowhere to be.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she padded over and pulled it open. Troy stood there, holding a large brown paper bag and four takeaway cups.
His gaze flickered downward, and he smiled. "Are your feet cold like usual?"
Jenna felt heat rush to her cheeks as she instinctively curled her toes in her slippers. "Shut up," she muttered, stepping back to let him in.
"Good morning," he said, his voice unsure but hopeful.
Jenna hesitated, eyeing the bag. "What's that?"
"Breakfast," he said, lifting it slightly. "I... I wasn't sure what you'd want, but I remembered you liked almond croissants. And, uh, there's some fresh fruit, yogurt, and two spinach and feta wraps. Just in case."
Jenna looked from the bag to his face, trying to gauge his intentions. She still wasn't sure what to do with him.
"I can eat outside if you'd rather," Troy said, shifting on his feet.
She sighed and stepped aside. "Come in."
