Page 139 of Breakaway Hearts

“Hello?” I ask when she calls.

“Maddie…” I hear it in her voice.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“I had no idea.”

“It’s fine,” I insist.

“It really isn’t,” she argues, sounding guilty as well as sorry.

“You’re not running it,” I realize.

“I loved it, Maddie. The rawness and reclaiming of your power…it’s the kind of article I’d love to publish someday…but our faculty advisor is concerned about legal ramifications or some BS excuse. I can fight it if you want, or put it out before he can stop me, but…”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You keep saying that,” she points out.

“I’m heading to my shrink’s so he can deal with that.” I try to make light of it so she won’t worry.

“I really am sorry,” she tells me. “If you need anything…”

“I know where to find you,” I assure her. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too.”

“It’s better this way,” I tell Dr. Kapoor forty minutes later when he’s all caught up. “It was cathartic to write it, but now I don’t have to expose my trauma for the world to see, or face the backlash all over again.”

He looks pensive, but it’s rare these days that he doesn’t speak his mind. It’s like his professional training is conflicting with his personal feelings, and so far, he lets his gut run things.

“Is it better?” he asks. “Or are they silencing you again?”

It’s the kind of statement I don’t think he wants a response to. Because, obviously, they are. But if I dwell on it, I’ll get so pissed, I’ll never graduate therapy. Which I hope is something I can do. Sooner rather than later.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Owen

I wouldn’t be so sure

“Who are you texting?” Emmy asks, leaning over my shoulder when I pull out my phone to check on Madison. I’ve been a bit of a helicopter boyfriend, which might be a part of the reason Tab suggested I take Emmy to get ice cream. I’ve never had a problem giving the kids my full attention when I’m with them, but Madison was seeing her shrink today, which even in my experience as a pretty well-adjusted kid with happily married parents and a barrage of loving siblings and pseudo aunts, uncles, and cousins, can leave you messed up, emotional, and crying your eyes out. I can only imagine what it was like for her, but all she wrote is:

Mad

Done with the shrink and headed to the library. Or home.

“Nobody,” I tell Emmy, leaving a thumbs up emoji. I’ll call when I get home and meet her wherever she ends up.

Em looks like she does not believe me one bit.

“Patrick has a boyfriend,” she says of her older brother. “He calls him all the time.”

“Do you feel left out?” I ask, knowing I should phrase it as ‘how does that make you feel?’ but I also know she’s using it as an opening for me to share, which is not going to happen.

Plus, Patrick is ten.

“They play Fortnite and say I’m too little.” She huffs. I assume she’s about to tell me how mature she is for her age, but then she remembers her mission. “But they also play Mario Kart with me when he comes over, so it’s okay. I even knew before Mom and Dad, and I didn’t tell.”