Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NIN E
CLAIRE
Going back to real life is an odd feeling after spending a week in a tropical paradise and the past few days under Mark’s touch. It’s as if the floodgates have been opened now and there’s no going back to how we were before. We haven’t had sex yet, but we’ve been taking it slow, exploring each other’s bodies late into the nights.
I had agreed to his stipulation that this doesn’t turn into a "real" relationship, but a part of me wonders where he draws that line. Is it just the idea of labeling it that bothers him? Because, as of right now, we do basically all the things that a couple would do; we eat dinner together most nights, I do the housework while he works, he kisses me constantly now that we’ve established our boundaries, and we often spend the nights curled up on the couch watching movies together. What difference would there be in him calling me his girlfriend? I’m not really sure, but the last thing I want to do is scare him away by asking, so I’ll keep my mouth shut for now.
But maybe one day…
No, I can’t even let myself think that way. Hoping that one day he’ll change his mind about what he wants from me is a surefire way to get my heart broken. I try to remind myself that there’s a whole world full of people out there, that most "normal" people go through multiple relationships before they find their forever partner. Even then, the idea of leaving Mark’s apartment—leaving Mark —makes my heart ache in ways it never has before.
One day at a time, I remind myself. There’s no use in worrying about the future if there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Still, that’s easier said than done.
Classes are back in full swing, and I’m just about to walk out of the building after Psychology class when my phone alerts me of a new email.
When I see the message, my blood runs cold. It’s the same sender as before—someone from home, though I’m still not entirely sure who.
"Claire,
I’m begging you to come home. Everyone misses you so much. I know that you’re probably experiencing a lot of new things, but none of those worldly things will ever come close to God’s love for you or your family’s love for you. If you continue to live in sin and reject the teachings of the church, you will regret it. It’s never too late to repent.
‘Let the wicked forsake their ways
and the unrighteous their thoughts.
Let them turn to the Lord, and he will have mercy on them,
and to our God, for he will freely pardon.’
-Isaiah 55:7 "
I lean back against the cool brick wall and slide down until my bottom hits the floor. This can’t be happening. I had almost managed to forget about the first message, having been knee-deep in schoolwork and then going on vacation with Mark, but I apparently couldn’t escape for long.
Based on the phrasing of the messages, I’m now almost certain it’s my mother. I understand why she’d want me to come home—I’m sure I messed up their whole plan for me to serve as another testament to their parenting by doing my good Christian duty of marrying a man of God and having a bunch of babies for them to add to their collection of grandchildren.
I just wish they could understand that I want to build my own life, make my own mistakes, and follow my own dreams. That will never be good enough for them, though.
My heart won’t stop racing as I stare at the message, seeing the words but not really reading them anymore. Dread sits in my stomach like a dead weight. I could block the email address, but something tells me she’d make another and keep contacting me. My mother is nothing if not persistent in her lifelong quest to maintain her image, which includes making sure all her children are just like her. Me disappearing in the middle of the night and leaving the community was the worst thing I could have done to her because it wrecked her image of our perfect little family.
Sucks for her, but I couldn’t give a damn about any of that now.
Except my chest is still tight with anxiety even while knowing there’s nothing she can do but continue to try to guilt trip me. I’m safe, I’m okay. I repeat those four words over and over in my head until I manage to calm down enough to drive home.
When I make it home, I’m grateful to find that Mark is busy with something in his office, so I quietly head to my own room and shut the door.
A part of me wants to collapse in his arms and cry, and the other part wants to stay in here by myself until I can think straight. I know he’ll worry like crazy if I tell him what’s going on.
Actually, my next appointment with Dr. Lawrence is tomorrow, so I’ll just ask her what I should do.
I change into my pajamas, flop down on the bed, and send Mark a text, not wanting to face him tonight. " Not feeling well tonight. I’m going to sleep, so don’t wait up. See you tomorrow. " I add a smiley emoji to the end of the message to make it sound less serious before tossing my phone on the nightstand and cocooning myself in my blankets.
Fifteen minutes later, his voice sounds outside my door. "Claire?" It’s just loud enough for me to hear, but I lay there in silence and pretend to be asleep even though I want nothing more than for him to come wrap me in his arms.
But I can’t escape from all my problems just by letting his presence suppress them until I can pretend they aren’t there. I need to deal with this on my own. I’m just not sure how.
After a mostly sleepless night of tossing and turning, I drink way too much coffee before making my way to Dr. Lawrence’s office. The little sleep I did get brought me no relief. My dreams were hazy and disjointed, snippets of scenes and images—me lost in an old building that resembled the back hallways of my old church, the lighting dim and illuminated only by flickering candles glinting off stained glass windows. I remember desperately trying to find my way out, but the hallways seemed to change every time I turned a corner. Something was chasing me, though I didn’t know what. All I knew was that I had to get away.
I had woken in the morning with my heart racing and my chest tight, but the relief that it was only a dream quickly took away most of the anxiety. Still, a tiny piece of it has lingered throughout the day, no doubt due to the email from yesterday.
It only takes a couple minutes for me to get called into Dr. Lawrence’s office, and she can immediately tell something’s wrong.
As soon as she asks, I tell her about the emails. Dr. Lawrence has a way of making me feel like I’m the only person in the world when I’m in her office, and today, I need that more than ever.
When I finish explaining, she leans back in her chair and studies me for a moment. "I can see why this is upsetting. Receiving those emails would be difficult for anyone, especially given your history with your family and their expectations."
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "I thought I was doing better dealing with the guilt. But these emails make me feel awful. I feel like I’m right back under their control."
"That’s a natural response," she says. "Their words are designed to evoke guilt and fear—two very powerful emotions that you associate with them and their way of life. But I want you to consider something: do their words hold any power over you now, or is it the memories of the past that give them power?"
The question catches me off guard. "I… I don’t know. Maybe both?"
"That’s fair," she says. "But the fact that you recognize what they’re trying to do is already a sign of your growth. You’re not that same person who felt trapped and unable to make her own decisions. You’ve taken control of your life in ways they couldn’t have imagined. This is your space now—your life. They can send a hundred emails, but they can’t make you go back unless you choose to."
Her words are comforting, but they don’t completely ease the tension in my chest. "I know you’re right, but it still gets to me. It feels like I’ll never really be free from them."
"Freedom isn’t always about distance," Dr. Lawrence says gently. "It’s about finding peace with your decisions and learning to separate who you are now from who they tried to make you. The emails are a reminder of where you came from, but they don’t define you."
I try to internalize her words, but a part of me just wants some actionable advice. "So, what should I do about them?"
"That’s your choice," she says. "You could block the sender, but as you said, they might just create another email account. You could reply to the email if you think it might help the situation. Or, you could write a response—not to send, but for yourself. Sometimes putting your thoughts into words can help you process them."
"I like that last idea. I write in my journal all the time anyway, so that could help."
Dr. Lawrence smiles. "Good. And remember, it’s okay to feel unsettled. Healing isn’t linear. You’ve made so much progress, Claire. Don’t let these emails make you forget that."
Her reassurance lightens the weight crushing my chest.
We spend the rest of the session unpacking my feelings about the emails, and not long before the session is over, I mention my vacation with Mark. A small smile creeps onto my face as I describe the days we spent in the tropical paradise—the sunsets, the laughter, and the way we seemed to fit together so effortlessly.
"Things sound like they’re going well with Mark," Dr. Lawrence observes. "How are you feeling about the relationship?"
I hesitate. "It’s… complicated. I know he doesn’t want anything serious, and I agreed to that, but it feels like we’re more than just casual. It’s confusing."
"Have you talked to him about how you feel yet?" she asks.
"No," I admit. "I’m afraid to. I don’t want to scare him off."
She nods thoughtfully. "It’s understandable to feel that way, but relationships thrive on communication. It’s okay to take things one day at a time, as you’ve been doing, but it’s also okay to want clarity. What’s important is figuring out what you need and whether the relationship, as it stands, fulfills that."
I sigh. "I don’t know what I need yet. I just don’t want to lose him." I don’t bother correcting her using the term "relationship," since I’m not exactly sure what to call my arrangement with Mark.
"Just remember, don’t put your own feelings on the back burner in order to keep the peace. Sometimes things need to be discussed and brought into the open, even when it’s a difficult conversation."
Ugh. She’s right again. Of course I’m used to putting my feelings aside to keep the peace. It’s how I was raised and is my natural reaction to any sort of relationship, whether it be family, friends, or more.
We wrap up our conversation, agreeing to dive more into what Dr. Lawrence refers to as my "anxious attachment style."
I spend the drive home playing over the session, trying to internalize everything she told me about my feelings being valid and how communication is important. Maybe I should journal about this when I get home. Writing everything down always helps me gather my thoughts and untangle them into something that makes a little more sense.
Maybe I will talk to Mark about my feelings, if not tonight then possibly this weekend. It’s times like these that I wish I could see inside his mind.
I punch in the code to open the apartment door, lost in my own thoughts. But there’s no time to think anymore, because Mark is sprawled out on the couch when I enter, and the grin he gives me melts away every worry I’d had.
And more than anything right now, I want him to touch me and make me forget every concern plaguing my mind.