Page 87 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
~Felicity~
It was evening, and we were sitting outside on the garden bench, the air cooling but quiet. Macy was upstairs in her room, working at her new desk with her art supplies—still decompressing after her first therapy appointment.
Dr. Maggie Chen, Macy's new therapist, had met with us first. She had a kind face and an easy, steady way of speaking that immediately made me feel like she was the right choice. She explained her process and the approach she planned to take with Macy. Her priority, she told us, would be building a relationship where Macy could begin to feel safe enough to trust her. That meant some conversations would stay just between them—unless there was a safety concern.
She also let us know that Massachusetts law is fairly strict when it comes to confidentiality, even with children, which meant her ability to share details with us would be limited.
Honestly? We didn’t care. We didn’t need to know everything. We just wanted Macy to have someone—someone safe, someone steady, someone who could help her hold the weight of everything she’s been through. As someone who works in HR, I understand how important psychological safety is in the aftermath of trauma. I can only imagine how much more essential it is for a child.
We told Dr. Chen to share only what she needed to. But Caden had one caveat—and I was grateful he said it out loud.
“Dr. Chen,” he said, his voice calm but lined with restrained fury, “as you know, the circumstances surrounding her mother were… highly concerning. If you learn anything suggesting Macy’s safety with her was ever at risk—or if something needs to be reported to the court—can you share that with us?”
Dr. Chen nodded. “Yes. I’m a mandatory reporter. If I have reason to believe Macy has experienced abuse, neglect, or exploitation—or if there’s substantial risk to her safety—I’m required to report it to DCF. That includes formal documentation and notification through the appropriate legal channels. I also reviewed your emergency custody paperwork. Macy has a Guardian ad Litem assigned to her, so any serious concerns I uncover would be shared with them as well.”
She said she’d always let Macy know when something needed to be shared, and why. That transparency, she explained, was part of how she protected the therapeutic relationship. It wasn’t about keeping secrets—it was about giving Macy a safe space that belonged just to her. Still, she promised to keep us in the loop on big-picture things: patterns she noticed, progress toward goals, and anything she thought we could help support at home.
It felt both like a relief and a letting go—knowing we wouldn’t know everything, but that maybe, for once, Macy wouldn’t feel so alone with it all. Macy may not be my biological daughter, but she's been my stepdaughter for more than half her life, and I want nothing but good things for her.
After the meeting, we left Macy there for her session. Caden and I walked down the street to grab a coffee. Exiting the front entrance, Caden reached for my hand just as I had unconsciously found myself reaching for his. We walked to the nearby shop close to Broadway Station called The Grind.
It had a chill atmosphere. I grabbed us a table while Caden ordered—black coffee for him, cappuccino for me. Before finishing, he looked back at me and nodded toward the pastry case. I mouthed “YES, you pick” with a smile. I hoped he would go for the ridiculously sized slice of Chantilly lace cake—one of my absolute favorites. I watched as the barista went straight to the cake and pulled it out of the case. Something in me twittered—excited for the cake, but also pleased he’d chosen it. It spoke to my heart as a small thing he knew about me.
We sat for about half an hour, speaking about our discussion with Dr. Chen. Eventually we came to the topic of our appointment coming up next week.
"I feel a little nervous, but I'm glad we are going," I admitted.
"Me too. I know we are going to be seeing someone together, but I think I should also plan to see someone myself." Caden's words surprised me—in a good way.
"Really?" I asked. "I have to admit, I've been thinking of doing so too. These last few weeks have brought up a lot for me, and I think I may want to talk to someone about it all too."
"Whatever you want, sweetheart."
I smiled at him and took a sip of coffee. We sat back and enjoyed our time before having to go get Macy.
Back at the house, sitting in our garden, I looked at the cherry trees and said to Caden, "They look good out here."
"They do. Jake said they may not bloom this year with the transplant process, but there's still a chance they could."
"Makes sense, but I hope they do. I can't wait to see it."
"I keep thinking about what you said before," I murmured, pulling my sweater tighter around my shoulders. "About wanting to remember how to see each other again."
"What about it?"
"I think we're doing it. Right now." I gestured to the space between us, the comfortable silence that had settled over the garden. "This feels like seeing."
Caden's phone buzzed in his pocket, the sound almost mingling with the chirp of the crickets. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen with a slight frown. "It's my mom. Should I—?"
"Take it," I said with a smile, stretching my legs out and feeling the satisfying pull from my ankles to my hamstrings.
He swiped to answer, his voice immediately shifting to the warmer tone he always used with Sandy. "Hey, Mom."
I could hear Sandy's voice through the speaker, warm and animated as always. Caden got his easy laugh from her—along with his pancake recipe.
"Hi, sweetheart. Is Macy still with you tonight?"
"Yeah, she's inside probably raiding our snack cabinet as we speak. Why?"
