Page 9 of Breaking
Max didn't bother looking up. "We ate earlier."
Jenna looked at the carefully prepared roast chicken and vegetables suddenly feeling like a mockery of her efforts. She wanted to snap at them, to demand they acknowledge her. But she didn't. It felt pointless.
"I thought we could have a family meal, just the three of us," she tried again, her voice faltering.
Lilly sighed dramatically, setting her phone down with an exaggerated clatter. "Mum, we're not kids anymore. You don't need to do this whole 'family dinner' thing."
Max snorted, finally glancing at his mother. "Yeah, especially when Dad's not even here. It's kind of depressing."
Jenna flinched, their words hitting her like physical blows. She looked down at her plate, her appetite completely gone.
"Right," she said quietly, pushing her chair back and standing. "I'll leave you to it, then."
She carried her plate into the kitchen, the sound of laughter following her as Max made some offhand joke she didn't catch. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, setting the plate in the sink with a little too much force.
She leaned against the counter, gripping its edge until her knuckles turned white. She'd always thought her love for her children would be enough. That no matter how the world saw her, they would see her as the woman who had given them everything. They used to prefer company when they were small, enjoying baking and her little arts projects together. But ever since they became teenagers the divide seemed to have widened.
Somewhere along the way, she'd become invisible to them too.
Later That Evening
Jenna lay curled up on the couch, her sketchbook open in her lap. She stared at the blank page, the pencil in her hand hovering over the surface but refusing to move.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, and her heart sank when she saw the name on the screen: Troy.
It wasn't a call. Just a text.
Staying at the apartment tonight. Having dinner with Max and Lila.
Troy had an apartment close to the office for all-nighters.
She read the message twice, her mind racing. Troy hadn't mentioned anything about Max staying over, but she supposed it didn't matter. It wasn't like she could argue with him about it.
She typed out a quick reply-Okay. Stay safe. -and set the phone back down, the ache in her chest spreading.
She wondered, not for the first time, if Max preferred Troy. It wouldn't surprise her. Troy was everything she wasn't-charismatic, successful, and effortlessly cool. He had a way of drawing people to him, even their children.
And then there was Lila.
Jenna knew she shouldn't think about it. She shouldn't dwell on the idea of Max spending time with her husband's colleague, laughing and joking while she sat alone in their empty house. But the thought wouldn't leave her, gnawing at the edges of her mind like a persistent whisper. Lilly was out with her friends from Uni.
Lila was Troy's best friend, Mach's sister. Mach and Troy were cofounders of his company, QuantaForge and Lila had been a permanent fixture in their lives, first as a close family friend and then as Troy's close colleague. There was no way to get away from her perfection. Or from the fact that her in-laws eluded to how Lila would replace her someday.
She closed her sketchbook with a sigh, setting it on the coffee table as she pulled a blanket over herself. After a while, she realized she had been staring at the wall for fifteen minutes. The house held the kind of silence that pressed against her ears and made her feel like she might scream just to break it.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, things would be different.
But deep down, she wasn't sure she believed it.
Chapter 8
Jenna
The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender, a scent that should have been calming but only made Jenna feel more aware of the tightness in her chest. She sat in the corner, her tablet balanced on her lap, her stylus resting between her fingers. Her latest illustration glowed softly on the screen-a whimsical landscape meant for the opening spread of a children's book.
She'd promised herself she wouldn't work here, but keeping her hands busy felt safer than letting her thoughts spiral.
"Mrs. Bradshaw?"
