I open my mouth, becauseno, absolutely not, that’s not what this is, but she lifts a hand and keeps going.
“Even when romantic relationships end, you’re still co-parents. You still have a bond through your children. And communication between the two of you is crucial, especially now.”
I close my mouth slowly.
She isn’t asking us to fix our marriage. She’s asking us to fix how we function for Milo.
Dr. Nina continues, “Couples counseling isn’t only for reconciliation. It can help separated parents learn to communicate, manage conflict, and support their children without slipping into old patterns.”
Patrick shifts beside me but stays silent.
“Something to consider,” she finishes softly. “For Milo’s sake, and your daughter’s.”
Agnes, our daughter who will never know her parents when they were together, I wonder which one of my children got the better end of the deal about that.
We stand, gather our things, and walk out together. Milo is exactly where we left him, curled over a coloring page at the receptionist’s desk, humming to himself.
“Ready, bud?” I ask.
He nods, hands the crayons back to the woman, and gives her a polite “thank you.” I smile and take his hand, guiding him toward the door. Patrick falls into step beside us.
He slipped out of work for this session; I know because he still has his gun and shield. I glance at the clock on the wall, almost eleven. My shift starts in less than an hour.
“I can drop him on the way,” Patrick says before I can. “Dad’s home today.”
I shake my head, “Gen wants to take them to the park, she’s waiting at home.”
He nods, understanding, “I’ll drop him there.”
Colter offered to help even duringmyweeks, but it felt wrong to leave Milo and Agnes at my ex–in-laws’ when I technically had custody. So, Genesis watches them on my week. Colter, during Patrick’s.
It’s our rhythm now.
And as we walk out into the parking lot, Patrick on one side of Milo, me on the other, it hits me that from a distance, we probably look like a normal family heading to their car.
We’re not.
After helping Milo buckle into Patrick’s back seat, I close the door and turn to Patrick. We both start speaking at once:
“So do you-”
“I’m gonna-”
We stop. Stare. Awkward silence thickens between us. Milo watches us through the window, eyes bouncing back and forth like he’s waiting for a swordfight.
I plaster on a smile, wide and stiff, and say, still smiling like a deranged Muppet, “Do you… want to do the family outing?”
Patrick shrugs, and because his back is to the car seat, he doesn’t bother hiding his grumpy face. “What’s the point?”
“So, our son doesn’t grow up emotionally stunted,” I hiss under my breath.
He shrugs again. “His parents are divorcing.”
My eyes close in frustration. I turn slightly so Milo can’t see my face. “Patrick.”
He folds his arms. “Were you gonna tell me you got a lawyer?”
“I didn’t,” I fire back. “I asked an old friend for advice. He sent over the documents. All we’d have to do is fill them out, list what we want and take them to a mediator. That’s it.”
