Chapter Eighteen #2
It’s weird. I never imagined I’d spill anything real to a stranger. But… it’s been good. Uncomfortable as hell, but good.
Dr. Brett takes off his glasses and folds them neatly into the notebook on his lap. His tone shifts, gentle but firm.
“Patrick, this is only your second appointment. You’ve been sober for one week. You haven’t attended a single AA meeting. And yet you feel… healed?”
I look away, jaw tight. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like I haven’t put in the work, but I have. Okay? I’m giving Lore space. I haven’t barged in like I wanted to. And I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in a week. That’s progress.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Didn’t you invite her to join today’s session?”
A laugh slips out. “Yeah. I wanted to show her I’m doing better. But with how this is going…” I shrug. “I’m glad she didn’t come.”
“Patrick,” Dr. Brett sighs softly. “Therapy isn’t a fix-all. Sitting in my office won’t magically heal you. You’ve yet to address any of your issues.”
“My issues?” I echo, defensive heat rising.
He puts his glasses back on and looks down at the notes in his lap.
“You’ve admitted to feeling insecure about your wife’s past. You’ve expressed indignation at being accused of something you believe you didn’t do. You’ve acknowledged guilt for your drinking.”
He looks up at me, eyes sharp but not unkind.
“But none of that is the root. You haven’t touched why you drink. Why you lied. Why you hid it. Why you avoided accountability. You haven’t touched the part of you that decided to escape instead of communicate.”
He leans forward slightly. “Being sober for one week doesn’t fix what drove you to drink in the first place.”
I swallow, my throat tight. Then I throw my hands up.
“I don’t know why I drank, okay? I just…
I couldn’t sit back and chill with a beer like I used to.
And I mean-” I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know why I ever gave up drinking in the first place.
Even Lore said I didn’t really have a problem.
I just wanted to fix our relationship, so I did the first thing I could think of. ”
Dr. Brett doesn’t react. “If you’re not an alcoholic, then why did you start drinking again after promising to stop?”
I exhale hard and sink back into the couch. “I had this nightmare. A recurring one. Lore was gone. Or she never existed at all. I’d be standing in our house, but it was empty. Completely bare. No pictures. No toys. No sound. Like our whole life had been erased.”
I drag both hands down my face.
“When I woke up, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fall back asleep. I kept picturing the place quiet like that. So, I went to the kitchen and grabbed the only thing left.”
My voice drops.
“I didn’t mean to finish the bottle. I swear I didn’t. I told myself I just needed a sip. Something to take the edge off. But tequila’s not even that strong. At least… it didn’t feel like it at the time. Because I woke up the next morning and the bottle was empty.”
I shake my head.
“I don’t even like tequila.”
Dr. Brett has been writing things down the entire time I’ve been talking. When I finish, he looks up at me over his glasses.
“You dreamed your life never existed. Why do you think that is?”
Of everything I said, he latches onto that. I shrug.
“The house looked like it did before we moved in.”
He studies me. “Why do you believe that’s part of your nightmare. Her gone. Your life erased.”
“How would I know,” I mutter.
Before he can push, a knock sounds at the door.
He stands and opens it. His body blocks the view at first, but when he steps aside to let the person in, I shoot to my feet.
Lore.
She doesn’t react. She just walks around Dr. Brett and takes the chair beside the sofa. I sit after a moment, feeling like a kid in trouble.
Silence stretches until I finally ask, “I didn’t think you were gonna come.”
She doesn’t look at me. “I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“I didn’t know you had one.”
“I never told you.”
“How’s the baby,” I ask quietly.
“Fine.”
I nod. “And work… how’s that. You never told me what happened with HR.”
“They fired Murphy,” she says softly.
“What. Just because you complained?”
She shoots me a look that could cut bone. “The complaint had merit.”
“Yes. I didn’t mean… I just…” I let the sentence die.
Dr. Brett folds his hands. “Since you both are here, maybe we can talk about what brings you today.”
I clear my throat. “I’m trying. I know I’m late to it, but I’m trying. I’ve stayed sober. I moved out. I’m giving you space. I showed up to therapy. I’m trying to fix this.”
Lore doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t soften; she wont even look at me.
Dr. Brett turns to her. “Mrs. Boise, how are you feeling hearing all of that.”
She sits very still, almost too still. When she speaks, her voice is low and detached.
“I’m glad he’s taking the right steps.”
I try to catch her eyes, smiling.
Then she adds, “But I didn’t come here for reconciliation.”
Something inside me drops.
“Then why come,” I ask, my voice cracking.
Dr. Brett gently says, “Mrs. Boise, if you’re comfortable, tell him what you’re feeling.”
She takes a steadying breath, and I already know I’m not prepared for what’s coming.
“I forgave him,” she starts. “For what he did that night. I forgave that part.”
My pulse pounds.
“But he lied,” she continues. “He lied about what happened straight to my face. He left out pieces so I’d feel guilty too. I thought I had a part in him being accosted by another woman because he went out drinking because of my past. I apologized to him for it.”
Her voice shakes now, but she doesn’t stop.
“And then I saw everything. I saw the tape. I know exactly how willing you were. And the fact that you let me blame myself…” She stops, swallows hard, and shakes her head. “I can’t forgive that.”
My chest caves. “Lore,” I whisper, I have no idea how she saw that tape, I haven’t seen it, IA is taking their sweet time.
“It makes me sick that I let you back into my bed. That I let myself feel close to you again. That I actually believed we were healing.” Her hands twist in her lap.
Then she lifts her head and looks at me straight on. Her eyes don’t waver. They go right through me.
“Do you understand that?” she says quietly. “I feel disgusting for sleeping with you.”
My breath stutters. I didn’t think anything could hurt more than what she already said, but that… that goes straight to the heart.
“I could forgive a lot,” she continues, voice steady like she practiced this. “I did forgive a lot. But I can’t forgive you for that.”
She takes one last breath, and it sounds like she’s locking something in place inside herself.
“So, I guess what I’m saying is… I’m done.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. She didn’t scream, didn’t yell or cry.
But her voice echoes like she did all three.
Done.