Page 47 of The Therapist

My heart and my head are at war.

What the hell was I thinking?

I should have never let it get this far.

The weight of what I’ve done crashes down all at once, suffocating. I can already see the headlines, the scandal.Prominent psychiatrist engages in illicit affair with deviant younger patient.

I could lose everything.

I slam my foot down on the gas, frustration clawing at my insides, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Because underneath the anger—the sharp, biting rage directed at myself—is something much worse.

Heartbreak.

I press my lips together, shaking my head.

I knew what Cooper was. I knew what I was getting into. And yet, I let myself believe—let myself hope—that maybe, just maybe, there was something real between us.

But love doesn’t live in the shadows.

And Cooper? He was never going to step into the light.

I dig my nails into the steering wheel, my vision blurring for a split second before I blink the tears away.

I made a mistake.

A devastating, irreversible mistake.

And now, I have to live with it.

Twenty Three

Present

I’d like you to know, I did love you.

Do love you still. I do.

You’re engraved in my soul. Etched on my heart. The following day you refused my calls, texts, and emails.

And the day after that.

I was distraught. Overcome by a deep sadness. In my funk, nothing consoled me. I crept through the tunnels at night but took no pleasure in what I saw.

It meant nothing anymore. It gave no relief. No excitement.

I fidgeted as I observed.

I moved from one room to the next—restless and anxious.

I broke my cardinal rule. No phone.

I was waiting for you to call, checking endlessly to see if you would reach out. I didn’t want to miss it if you did. Days without you felt like years.

I was crumbling.

Phone in pocket I moved from louver to louver—watching.

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