(Winona)Jayden arrives at my door early on Sunday morning, the sun just starting to filter through the trees outside. I wasn’t expecting him this soon; he texted earlier to ask if he could come over. I open the door, and there he is—tall, broad, impossibly handsome. His face is a mix of determination and regret. “Hey,” he says softly, “Thanks for seeing me.”“Hey,” I reply, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for wanting to come by. I want to get this cleared up.”We go to the kitchen and I pour us coffee.He takes the cup from me, his fingers brushing mine for just a second, and I can feel the familiar pull, the one that’s always been there, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart. We sat down at the table.“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice low. “About everything. I know I messed up, Win. I... I never wanted to hurt you like that ever.”I nod, looking down into my coffee, watching the ripples on the surface. “I’m sorry too. For my part in it. Jayden, I think we’
(Winona)The private airstrip stretches out before us, a vast expanse of concrete bordered by high fences and dotted with sleek, black security vehicles. Nexus Global’s logo gleams on the side of the jet, recognisable in every country on this planet, a reminder of the juggernaut that Gus’s empire is.Gus is outside his jet, overseeing the luggage being loaded. He’s in control over every aspect of the flight. Just like his life. His calm, methodical demeanor is unsettling. You can never read Gus. Outside he’s calm and controlled. But I’m under no illusions of the steps he’d have taken to get to where he is now.That includes leaving his only son to be raised in an abusive household as punishment to Judy who refused to go to Europe with him and slept with his brother. This man can make miracles happen, but he can also rain down the fires of Hell without a second thought. This man is Jayden’s father.Do we truly choose to be the person we want to be or does the gene pool have the last
(Winona)I glance at Jayden, wondering how he’s feeling about his mother leaving, but his face is a mask of calm that I can’t read. He hasn’t said much about it, and I can’t tell if he’s relieved or not.For the first time in his life, his mother won’t be hovering over him, dictating his every move, and yet he seems... unmoved.It’s that unreadable expression that sets my nerves even more on edge. I’ve always struggled to understand Jayden’s feelings when it comes to his mother, and now, more than ever, I wish I could see inside his head.Is he happy she’s leaving? Is he secretly afraid, like I am? Or is he just so numb to her influence that he doesn’t care anymore? The uncertainty about his emotions adds another layer to my inner anxiety.“Jayden, dear,” Judy says, turning to him as she stands. She ushers Abby over to me as she approaches her son. “Take care of yourself, won’t you.”Jayden nods, his face remaining impassive. “I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.“Good
(Winona)Dr. Barnaby Greyson, M.D., Ph.D.Consultant Psychiatrist and PsychoanalystGuiding the Minds Behind the HeadlinesI hover outside his office door, reading the name over and over. This is it. My nerves are toast. My hands clammy and my heart rate like a racehorse who just finished a steeplechase.I look at Jayden beside me and he looks exactly like I feel.His eyes meet mine. “We got this.”I nod. “We got this.”We step inside together and a receptionist asks us to take a seat after she takes our names.We both sit in silence. I’m sure the clock on the wall is on high volume as the seconds tick over.Then out he steps. He’s younger than I imagined. Not even any gray kissing his hair. I’m not sure he’s much older than us. Maybe he has a good hair colorist and does Botox or something.He nods at us, peering over his glasses like he is actually one hundred years old. This is weird.We stood up and walked into his room. “Take a seat,” he says as he sits in his huge leather office
(Winona)Barnaby pauses, then leans forward slightly. “Jayden, you mentioned anger. Can you tell me more about that? What is it that makes you angry?”Jayden’s words come out, slow and measured. “I’m angry because I feel like I’ve been lied to, manipulated. I feel like I’ve lost control of my own life, and I don’t know how to get it back. I don’t know if I ever had it.”Dr. Greyson turns to me. “Winona, what about you? What are you feeling?”I hesitate, not wanting to say too much, not wanting to open the floodgates. But I know I have to, if this is going to work. “I’m scared,” I admit. I look at Jayden and then back at Barnaby. “I’m scared that no matter what we do, it’s not going to be enough. Maybe we were way too broken before we even started.”The room falls silent again. I can feel Jayden’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back at him.“It’s clear that you both have a lot of pain and fear that you’re carrying. But the fact that you’re here, that you’re willing to talk about it, is
(Jayden)“Imagine being told by my best friend that you now loved Ashlyn and had no memory of me.” Winona’s voice is steady, but the hurt behind it is unmistakable. She continues, “I was heartbroken. All I wanted was to get through rehabilitation as fast as possible and come find you. I was sure once you saw me, you’d remember what we had.”I listen to her words. There’s no avoiding the pain she’s laying out in front of me.“Jayden, remember this isn’t about blame,” Barnaby’s voice cuts in, calm and firm. “This is Winona expressing her truth. Just hear her. No excuses. No defensiveness. Just listen.”I nod, silencing the instinct to defend myself.“You never cared about my side of things,” Winona continues. “Not once. You never gave me the benefit of the doubt. You just accepted what they told you, even when I tried to help you remember.”“Okay, let’s—” Barnaby starts but Winona keeps going.“You made love to me the night I conceived Abby.” Her voice tightens. “I thought I’d finally
(Winona)The penthouse feels more like a sanctuary today than it has in months. Abby’s laughter echoes through the spacious living room as she chases a bouncing ball, her small feet thumping against the hardwood floors. The sound of her joy is a balm to my frayed nerves, still tender from yesterday’s therapy session with Barnaby.Jayden and I are at the kitchen island, laptops open, papers strewn about as we try to coordinate our schedules. With Judy gone and Abby starting preschool full-time, our days are suddenly our own, but also more complicated with finding a work-life balance. We’re drafting a family calendar—work meetings, Abby’s school events, therapy sessions. It’s mundane, yet feels like a significant step forward.“Okay, so I’ll drop her off at school on Mondays and Wednesdays, and you pick her up?” Jayden asks, pointing to the digital calendar.“Sounds good. And I can take Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I confirm, making the entries. “Fridays we can alternate or go together, d
(Winona)I’m sitting at a wooden park table, my fingers tracing the rough surface, trying to focus on anything but the dread pooling in my stomach.The park is beautiful today—families laughing, kids playing by the stream, and ducks floating lazily in the clear water. It’s the kind of day that should bring peace, but instead, my frayed nerves barely hold me together.Gordon had assured me that Steve would find me and to just sit somewhere amongst other people. Gordon is here as well. I can’t see him but I know he is. Knowing that quells the gnawing anxiety.My phone is recording, hidden in my pocket, ready to capture every word of this twisted reunion. I brace myself for what I know will be an ugly encounter.The wind rustles through the trees, and I catch sight of him walking toward me. He’s thinner but well dressed and that same smug smirk twists his lips. His presence is a shadow, darkening the brightness of the day.“Well, well,” Steve says as he approaches, his voice laced with c