Page 37 of Doctor Dilemma

Eventually Hannah sat down across from me.

“You look tired,” she said, and that was probably the truth. I wasn’t at my best. But if I had been, I wouldn’t have picked up my phone.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” I asked. She shook her head.

“I’m surprised you’re drinking in the afternoon.”

“You were the one who said I looked tired.”

“You do,” she said. “I hope you made it a double.”

It may have been a joke, but she was right. I faked a laugh and took a sip of the coffee.

“Let’s do this,” I said. “What do you need to say to me?”

It was my hunch that Hannah didn’t actually know what she was going to say. And the silence she gave me confirmed that theory.

“How do you want this to go?” I asked.

“I want you to tell me what I did wrong,” she said. “I was nothing but perfect to you. I was the best girlfriend. Men would break down doors to have me, and you didn’t even appreciate me.”

What was there to say to that? I could tell her that she wasn’t perfect to me, but then she’d just get defensive. I could point out that I appreciated her plenty, but it would never be good enough. Talking with Hannah was a lot like arguing with her — it was a game of chess where the rules changed with every move, and she’d only let you know after you broke them.

Anything I said would be wrong but of course, so would not saying anything at all.

“Maybe I just need perspective,” I said. “Maybe six months from now, I’ll look back on this as the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“You expect me to still be around and waiting for you six months from now?”

No, I didn’t. That’s why I said six months. By then, she would have forgotten about me.

“We’re different people, and it wasn’t working. Neither of us were happy.”

“You were the reason we weren’t happy,” she said. “If you could just see the sunshine in life, then we would have been in a better place.”

The conversation would continue to go back and forth like that, with me trying to say everything I could only for it to not be enough to convince her. Because nothing could convince her, and the full truth would come off as too harsh. It wasn’t that I wasn’t saying true things — everything I said was absolutely something I believed — but they were all symptoms of the major problem: Hannah was a controlling, abusive person. And until she got the help she needed, she’d continue to be that way.

Eventually, I’d run out of energy. I’d been through too much that day, and I didn’t want to drag this out any longer than I needed to. So I called it. “That’s all I’ve got, Hannah,” I said, holding up my hands in defeat.

“What do you mean that’s all you’ve got?”

“I mean, you wanted a conversation. You wanted an explanation. I gave it to you.”

She wasn’t crying yet, but she was on the verge of it, holding back tears along with anger.

“Okay,” she said, “that’s how you want to play it? Fine.”

As she stood up, she grabbed onto Bagel’s leash and pulled it out of my hand.

“Wait,” I said, “what are you doing?”

In a voice louder than her speaking voice, she said. “She’s my dog, Leo!”

That was certainly true on paper, but only on paper. The registration was technically in her name. But I was the one who walked Bagel and fed her and played with her and… if we’re just being petty, I was the one that Bagel loved more.

“Come on, Hannah,” I said, my voice soft and as calm as I could make it.

“Get away from me!” she said.

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