“No,” I answer automatically.
The word is out before I even think about it.
It’s instinct. Reflex. Muscle memory from ten years of loving her. Then honesty catches up to me.
“Not yet,” I add.
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Jess’s face crumples, not dramatically, not in some over-the-top display, just enough for me to see it. A tiny fracture in her composure. She straightens almost immediately, blinking fast, lifting her chin like she can will the hurt away.
But I saw it.
And I hate that I’m the one who put that look there.
I exhale slowly and pull out one of the chairs at the small breakroom table, the metal legs scraping faintly against the tile.
“Jess, sit down.”
She doesn’t move. Instead, she folds her arms tighter around herself, like she’s physically holding herself together. It’s defensive. Protective. Like I’m the threat.
Maybe I am.
I drag a hand down my face, buying myself a second. I rehearsed this. I had the words. But saying them to her feels different than saying them to a man on a screen.
“I had a session with Dr. Brett this morning.”
Her brows knit together immediately. “Oh?”
There’s confusion there. Surprise. Maybe even a little disbelief. She knew how much I hated talking to him. I may have pushed for counselling but was for our marriage, personal therapy was plain pointless.
Until now.
“Yeah,” I say focusing back on her. “I figured I should… talk to someone before I made any decisions.”
That part is true.
“I told him everything. What you told me. What’s been happening. What’s been going on in my head.”
She’s watching me carefully now. Like she’s bracing for pain.
“And he suggested we try something,” I continue.
Her eyes flicker, like she’s afraid to let herself feel hopeful. “Try what?”
I draw in a breath and hold it for a second before letting it go.
“It’s called structured separation.”
Her arms loosen slightly, fear replacing anxiety. “Separation?”
“It doesn’t mean divorce,” I clarify quickly. “It means we stay in the house. For the kids. We keep things stable. But we don’t operate as a couple for a while.”
She goes very still.
“No emotional conversations unless we both agree to them,” I continue, keeping my tone measured. “No pretending everything’s fine. No pressure to fix it right now. Just… boundaries.”
I swallow.
