Page 137 of The Prodigal Son

Of course, not every day is effortless. In the beginning, it felt as if I was just getting worse. Feeling and talking about the hardest, darkest parts of myself felt like falling down a dark hole I’d never climb out of again. But with time and treatment, I started to feel better—better than ever. And it’s going to be work for a long time. I don’t think I’ll ever be truly healed. Those ideations might always be there. But I can still live a full, happy life with the right care.

And that’s the thought that keeps me going every day. Through all the one-on-one therapy, the group therapy, the EMDR, the meditation, the tears, the rage, the pain, the loneliness, the regret…all of it. I just keep thinking of him.

Every night when I put my head on the pillow, I imagine the life Isaac and I could have. I picture our future. In my fantasy, we move into a new house. Somewhere he can enjoy some privacyon his time off. He’s wearing my ring on his finger and I’m wearing his on mine. I see us with a family of our own. Children we can pour all of our love into. A real legacy to leave behind.

I imagine him lying in the bed next to me. When I close my eyes before I sleep, I remember the feel of his skin against my lips. The taste of his kiss. The warmth of his body.

For the chance to live that life, I keep going every single day. Because I deserve that happiness. I deservehim.

At the halfway point of our treatment plan, the counselors suggest we have a family member visit. I couldn’t be less enthused about this part of the program. Just when I am starting to feel good and relaxed, I have to face the one person who threatens to tear it all down again. But as Kyle has reminded me a hundred times already, feelings need to be felt. Which is just a cruel and rude thing to say, honestly.

My mother is sitting at the small table alone in the middle of the garden when I emerge from my room to see her. She looks nervous, wringing the handle of her purse and bouncing her knee as she waits for me.

I feel like a jerk for making her be here and listen to things I have to say, but it’s not up to me to make her life painless. It’s only up to me to heal and part of that means making my mother aware of the pain she’s inadvertently caused.

“Oh, Jens,” she whispers when she sees me. “You look so good, honey.”

She stands from the table and pulls me in for a hug. I embrace her back with hesitation. I know that I look good on the outside to her. I’ve been running and working out every day. The treatment center has a pool that I do laps in every morning. I’ve shaved off my beard and I actually get sleep every night now, so yeah, I’m sure to her, I do look better.

It’s not a reflection of what I feel like on the inside.

“Thanks, Mom.”

I take a seat across from her and watch her fidget nervously. Avoiding awkward silence, she launches into small talk.

“I’ve been at your aunt Maureen’s since you came here. You should see her new house up in the hills. Vineyards for miles. It’s gorgeous. And your cousin just got married there.”

I give her a moment of rambling before I cut her off. “Mom.”

“I’m sure your father has already told you, but Gabby is dating someone new. I guess she brought him to bowling night, but I missed it.”

“Mom, please stop.”

I reach across the table and take her hands in mine. They’re shaking and she tries to pull them away, but I hold her in place.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Jensen,” she cries.

“You’re free to leave at any time,” I reply.

Her lips are pressed together, and I swallow my guilt for making her sad. But I need to say this—for as long as she’ll listen.

“I’m just afraid you’re going to tell me it was my fault.” Her voice quivers with emotion. “Your father seems to think it is.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

“You’re not?” Her brows rise with hope.

“No. That’s for you to work out on your own,” I reply, and her brows instantly drop back down.

“Then…what do you want to say?” There is so much fear in her eyes, and it breaks my heart.

“I want to tell you…” I drag in a long, slow breath, and after letting it out, I look at her steadily. “I’m gay.”

Her brows pinch inward. “I know that, Jensen.”

“I know you know that, but I could never tell you. And I needed to say it.”

“I don’t care that you’re?—”

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