Chapter 18
We walk out of Dr. Claudia’s office together. The hallway is quiet, the soft shuffle of our shoes the only sound between us.
“So,” Aiden says, his voice uncertain, “are you going to keep doing your individual therapy?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s actually now.”
“Oh.” His expression flickers. I hear the disappointment he tries to smooth over. “I was hoping to get coffee.”
“Well,” I start, not quite sure what to offer.
“No, you should,” he says quickly, waving it off. “It’s good. That’s good.”
I nod and begin to turn away, then pause. “Aiden?”
He glances up. “Yeah?”
“Will you keep going to therapy?”
He looks caught off guard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t really know if it’s for me.”
I tilt my head. “You do realize we’ve been together for eighteen years and this is the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about your dad?”
“I told you about him,” he says, defensively.
I shake my head. “Yeah, when we first started dating. You said he left. And then nothing. You practically took my head off when I asked about inviting him to our wedding.”
He grimaces. “That was a bad night.”
“It was one of the worst fights we ever had.”
Aiden doesn’t say anything right away. His jaw works, like he’s trying to chew the right words into shape.
“It’s your choice,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “But you should know, it helps. Talking about it.”
Aiden looks at me, his arms still crossed, but something in his face shifts, less guarded, more exposed. He gives a small nod, not quite agreement, but not dismissal either. Maybe just the beginning of a crack.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Maybe.”
I don’t press him. I just offer a small smile, watching him walk out the doors. I walk to Dr Brett’s office, knocking on his office door. I’m a little late, so I rap my knuckles once before opening the door. He looks up from his seat and nods me in.
I drop down onto the sofa, exhaling hard. “Aiden thinks I’m possessive of the boys. That I never let him parent them. So, every month he’d take them on some boys’ trip just to get them away from me.”
I look up at Dr. Brett. He waits.
“I used to feel jealous,” I admit. “He never once planned a single trip for the two of us. No weekend getaway. No couple’s thing. Just them.”
He studies me for a beat. “And how does that make you feel?”
I roll my eyes at the phrasing. “It makes me feel sucky,” I say. “I’ve spent so long complaining about how he’s not involved or not present. Turns out I was the one who pushed him out.”
The words sting more coming out of my own mouth. But they feel true.
Dr. Brett watches me quietly, giving me space. Then he speaks, voice calm but direct. “Why do you think you did that?”
I shake my head, slouching deeper into the sofa. “I don’t know. I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”
He nods slowly. “Do you think it has anything to do with your fear of abandonment?”
I sit with the question, chewing the inside of my cheek. It sits uncomfortably in my chest.
“Maybe,” I say. “I mean, I always wanted to be everything for the boys. For Aiden. So, they’d be happy.”
He leans forward slightly, fingers folded together. “Why do you think that need to be everything felt so urgent? Why did it become so extreme?”
“I don’t know,” I say again, softer this time.
He waits. “You do.”
My breath catches and I feel heat behind my eyes. “Okay,” I snap, voice rising. “I was afraid of making them unhappy.”
His tone remains even. “And what did you believe would happen if they were unhappy?”
“They’d leave me,” I say, too quickly. The words just tumble out.
There is silence. A deep kind. Heavy but not unkind.
My hands curl into fists against my lap. “Oh my god,” I whisper. “I smothered them. I was trying so hard not to be like my mother that I... I became worse than Aiden’s.”
My voice cracks. “I complain about how she criticizes the way I raise the boys. But I did the same thing to Aiden.”
Dr. Brett stays quiet, just watching me with those steady eyes.
I wipe under my eyes, more frustrated than sad now. “I complain a lot.”
Dr. Brett nods gently. “This is a safe space, Kate. You’re allowed to say the hard things here.”
He pauses just long enough for me to breathe.
“You’re not being judged. You’re being honest. And that’s progress. Awareness is the first step toward change.”
Then, his voice softens even more. “You’re not a bad person for trying too hard. You were trying to protect yourself. Trying to protect your family. It just came out in ways that caused distance instead of closeness.”
“I have to go on a date today,” I say, a little flatly. “With Aiden.”
Dr. Brett tilts his head slightly. “Part of the couples work?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “But we’re not allowed to talk about therapy or the kids. And honestly... I don’t even know what else we have.”
He studies me for a moment, then speaks with calm certainty. “Kate, one of the most common reasons relationships begin to fracture is because we forget that humans are constantly evolving. Our priorities shift, our perspectives deepen, our needs change.”
I stay quiet, listening.
He goes on, “The trick isn’t to stop those changes.
That’s not possible. The trick is to remain intentional about sharing the journey.
To keep rediscovering your partner, even as you both become different people over time.
Growth doesn’t have to mean growing apart.
But it does require presence. Curiosity. Willingness.”
I nod slowly, trying to imagine what that looks like. Choosing to see him now, instead of who he was.
“Tonight’s date?” he says gently. “It isn’t about who you were. It’s about who you’re becoming. Together, if you let it be.”
He smiles gently. “Can I offer a suggestion for the date?”
I nod, not sure what to expect.
“Start with curiosity,” he says. “Ask each other questions you haven’t asked in years. Not about the kids, not about the schedules, but about each other. What dreams feel out of reach right now? What scares you lately? What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but never said out loud?”
I blink. “That feels... kind of intense.”
He chuckles softly. “It doesn’t have to be all at once. Keep it light, playful if that feels safer. But the point is, don’t just talk. Listen. Really listen to who Aiden is today. And let him see who you are too.”
He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Connection doesn’t just happen. It’s built in the small, intentional moments. So tonight, make it about rediscovering, not fixing.”
I sit back, holding that in my chest. Rediscovering. That sounds less exhausting than repairing.
Dr. Brett shifts in his seat, watching me gently. “Did you write the letters? To your parents? To your younger self?”
I let out a breath. “It kind of turned into a journal, honestly. Just pages and pages of everything they missed. The things they forgot, the ways they didn’t show up. All the birthdays, the school things, the silence.”
“And how did it feel,” he asks, “writing it all down?”
I nod slowly, looking at my hands. “It felt good. Like I was screaming into the paper. Like I didn’t have to keep it all in anymore. It was… therapeutic.”
He chuckles softly. “And what did you say to your parents, in the letter?”
I hesitate. “Well. My father had a heart attack. The day before yesterday. That’s why I cancelled yesterday’s session.”
Dr. Brett straightens a little. “Is he alright?”
“He’s fine now,” I say. “But apparently almost dying made him realize he wants a relationship with me. Or something like that.”
“And what did you say to him?”
I shrug. “I told him it wasn’t enough. That saying he ‘chose me when I was born’ isn’t enough to make up for a lifetime of neglect.”
Dr. Brett tilts his head, confused. So I tell him what my father told me about circumstances surrounding my birth and the first year of my life.
“Why did that make you angry?”
I swallow, letting the answer rise slowly. “Because it’s not an apology. It’s just a reason. What, am I supposed to be fine with everything now because he had a reason? Because he meant to love me but just didn’t know how?”
He lets that hang there for a moment. Then he says, “What’s holding you back from having a relationship with your parents now?”
I hesitate. “Nothing.”
Dr. Brett just looks at me. That quiet, waiting look that always makes it harder to lie to myself.
I close my eyes. “I don’t trust them, okay? They left once. They’ll leave again. Or die. And then I’ll be left… what? Hurting again? Why let them in if they’re just going to go?”
He asks softly, “Do you love them?”
I don’t answer right away. “I guess. They’re my… parents.”
“And?”
“I’m scared,” I admit. “I’m scared of what they’ll do to me if I let them close. If I believe they’ve changed and then they prove me wrong.”
Dr. Brett nods. “It’s okay to be scared. But don’t let that fear make all your choices for you.”
He leans forward slightly, his voice calm and sure.
“Here’s what I want you to do. Go home. Find a quiet spot.
Take a piece of paper. And write the letter again.
Not the list of everything they did wrong.
But how those things hurt you . What you needed.
What it felt like. Write it as if you’re going to send it. Even if you never do. Alright?”
I nod slowly. My throat feels tight again.
He offers a small smile. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest.”
I shift in my seat and change the subject. “How can I make Aiden go to therapy? Individual therapy, I mean.”
Dr. Brett doesn’t press, though I can tell he knows I’m deflecting. He lets me have the detour anyway. “Why do you believe he needs therapy?”
I sigh. “His dad left when he was ten. Just walked out. He never talks about it, never even mentions how it felt. He acts like it didn’t hurt him.
But it did. I know it did. In our couple’s session, he brought it up, just in passing, like it was some random story.
He needs to talk about it. Actually talk.
Instead of just shoving it down. I’d know what that looks like. ”
Dr. Brett studies me. Then he says, “You said your husband asked you to go to therapy after your youngest was born.”
I nod. “Yeah. I had a little postpartum, but I got over it.”
“Without therapy?”
“Yeah,” I say, a little sharper than I mean to.
He raises his brows gently. “Why didn’t you try it back then?”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
His voice is calm, not pushing. “Why not?”
I cross my arms, more defensive now. “Because it was my choice. And I was fine.”
Dr. Brett gives me that quiet, knowing look. The one that makes me feel seen even when I don’t want to be.
I sink into the silence for a moment. Then I sigh. “Ah. You’re saying it has to be his choice.”
He nods. “You can’t force someone to open up about their deepest wounds. Especially not an adult. Especially not someone who’s been trained by experience, to believe silence is strength.”
I look down at my hands, feeling a sting behind my eyes. “But what if he never chooses to? What if he just keeps carrying it and it keeps bleeding into everything else?”
Dr. Brett speaks gently. “Then all you can do is keep your side of the street clean. Be honest with him. Tell him how it feels to watch him carry that pain alone. Tell him you want him to talk to someone, not to fix him, but because he matters to you. And then let him decide.”
He leans back, voice softer now. “Sometimes love means letting someone face the mirror on their own time.”
I nod slowly, even though it hurts. Because I know he’s right.
“You know, I used to be happy,” I say, the words catching me by surprise even as I speak them. “Back before motherhood, I was actually carefree. I had friends, hobbies. I was on the cheer squad, if you can believe it.” I offer a small, self-conscious laugh. “Now all I do is worry.”
Dr. Brett’s expression softens. “Maybe it’s time to get back to that happy place again. What are your hobbies?”
I blink, caught off guard by the question. I think for a long moment, too long. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had the time to think about that.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Then it’s time to make the time. Once a week. Let your husband be with the boys, and you do something just for you. Something that has nothing to do with being a wife or a mother.”
I scoff lightly, though there’s no real resistance behind it. “What would I even do? And it’s not that easy. I mean, sure, I have the time now , I’m still on vacation but I have to go back to work soon. Then I’ll just want to sleep in when I’m free.”
He studies me for a moment. “What do you do?”
“I’m an executive assistant to the CEO of Jacky’s,” I say, a bit defensively. “I know it sounds like a glorified babysitter, but it’s actually demanding. Time-consuming. I manage the entire East Coast operations. And now there’s a promotion up for grabs. If I get it, it’ll be even more.”
Dr. Brett tilts his head. “You don’t sound excited about that.”
I pause. “Back when I got this job, that promotion was my dream. I worked for it. Fought for it. But now… it just feels like more work.”
He nods slowly, like he’s heard this before. “Dreams are allowed to change.”
I exhale, my voice quieter now. “Maybe.”