Chapter 23 #2
“True. But, Nora—” Jade leaned in. “Carson’s been broken since his sister disappeared. We all knew it. Saw how he threw himself into work to avoid dealing with it. And we just...accepted it. That’s who Detective Black was. But with you, I saw glimpses of who Carson could be. Who he wanted to be.”
“Wanting to be different and actually being different are two things.”
“I know. I’m just saying…don’t give up on him completely. Not yet.” Jade squeezed her arm. “He’s trying. Really trying. I can tell.”
After Jade left, Lila raised an eyebrow. “So. He’s trying.”
“She says. But I don’t know what that means. Trying how? Promising to change again? Or actually doing the work?” She wanted to believe he was changing, wanted to hope, but it almost felt like too much—too dangerous.
“Maybe you should find out,” Lila suggested.
Nora shook her head. “I told him I needed time. I can’t just—”
“I’m not saying break your boundary. I’m saying maybe check in. Text him. See how he’s doing. You don’t have to get back together. Just...don’t completely cut him off.” Lila sipped her wine. “Unless that’s what you want. To cut him off.”
Nora looked away. At anywhere but her friend’s penetrating, questioning stare. The truth was, Nora didn’t want that. Wanted the opposite. Wanted to run back to him, wanted to fix things, wanted to believe he could change.
But she’d tried believing before. Tried hoping. And gotten her heart broken.
“I’ll think about it,” Nora said.
***
On day five, Carson had his second therapy session.
“How did the homework go?” Dr. Carpenter asked. “One day without thinking about work?”
“Made it six hours. Then I went fishing instead.” Carson settled into the chair that was starting to feel familiar. “Does fishing count as not thinking about work?”
“Did you think about work while fishing?”
“Not really. Thought about other things. My dad. My sister. Nora.”
“That sounds like progress.” Dr. Carpenter made a note. “Tell me about your father. You mentioned he was killed in the line of duty.”
Carson talked about his dad. About being nineteen when he died. About the way the whole community turned out for the funeral. About becoming a cop to honor his memory.
“But you never got to grieve him properly,” Dr. Carpenter observed. “You were a kid, dealing with the trauma of your sister’s disappearance. Then two years later, your father dies. That’s an enormous amount of loss for a teenager.”
“I didn’t have time to grieve. Had to be strong for my mom. Had to keep searching for Lily. Had to—” Carson stopped. “Had to prove I could save someone. Even if it was too late to save the people who mattered most.”
“And have you? Saved enough people to make up for the ones you lost?”
“No. It’s never enough.”
“It never will be. Not until you forgive yourself for things that weren’t your fault.
” Dr. Carpenter leaned forward. “Carson, you were a child when Lily disappeared. A teenager when your father died. Neither of those things happened because you weren’t good enough or strong enough or vigilant enough.
They happened because the world is random and cruel sometimes. ”
“If I’d been watching Lily—”
“You were seventeen. You were on the phone. You looked away for five minutes. That’s not negligence. That’s being a kid.” Her voice was firm. “And your father walked into an armed robbery. Nothing you could have done would have prevented that.”
Carson felt tears prick his eyes. “Then why do I still feel responsible?”
“Because it’s easier to feel responsible than powerless. If it’s your fault, that means you could have prevented it. Could prevent future losses. But if it’s not your fault—if it’s just random tragedy—then you’re powerless. And that’s terrifying.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Because she was right. Being responsible was painful. But being powerless was unbearable.
“So what do I do?” Carson asked, his voice trembling. “How do I stop feeling responsible for everything?”
“You start small. You practice letting go. You trust other people to handle things without you. And you accept that sometimes, despite your best efforts, bad things happen. And that’s not your fault.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It is. But, Carson?” She waited for him to look at her. “You’re strong enough to do this work. You’ve been carrying this burden for nineteen years. Imagine how much lighter you’ll feel when you finally put it down.”
***
On day seven, Nora texted Carson.
Just three words: How are you?
She stared at her phone for ten minutes before sending it. Then stared for another twenty waiting for a response.
The reply came forty-five minutes later: Better. Trying. Started therapy. Miss you.
Four sentences. But they said everything.
Nora’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to say she missed him too. Wanted to ask about therapy, about what he was learning, about whether he was really changing.
But she’d asked for space. And space meant not falling back into old patterns just because she was lonely.
She typed: I’m glad you’re in therapy. That’s good. I miss you too.
Then, before she could overthink it: Take the time you need. Really work on yourself. We can talk when you’re ready.
His response was immediate: I will. I promise. And Nora? I’m not making promises I can’t keep anymore. I’m actually doing the work. For me. For us. For the future I want to have with you.
Tears spilled down Nora’s cheeks. Because she wanted to believe him. Wanted so badly to believe this time was different.
But belief required more than words. Required seeing actual change. Required time.
She typed: Show me. When the two weeks are up, show me who you’ve become.
I will, he responded. I love you.
I love you too.
***
Carson’s two weeks off passed in a strange blur.
Therapy twice a week. Fishing. Reading books that had nothing to do with crime. Cooking real meals. Going for runs. Doing all the normal human things he’d neglected for years.
He met with Finn once for coffee. Didn’t ask about cases. Didn’t check his work email. Just talked about life, about therapy, about Nora.
“She texted me,” Carson said. “Day seven. Asked how I was.”
“That’s good. She still cares.”
“I know. But I don’t know if caring is enough. If she’ll be willing to give me another chance after I’ve failed her so many times.”
“Then you better make sure you’ve actually changed. Not just for two weeks. But permanently.” Finn studied him. “Have you? Changed?”
Carson thought about it. About how he no longer felt the constant itch to check case files. About how he could sit through a meal without his mind wandering to investigations. About how he’d learned to identify the difference between healthy dedication to his work and unhealthy obsession.
“I’m working on it,” Carson said. “Learning to trust that the job will get done without me micromanaging everything. Learning that victims don’t need me specifically to get justice. They just need competent cops doing their jobs.”
“That’s big for you.”
“It’s hard. Every instinct tells me to jump back in.
To take control. To make sure everything’s done right.
” Carson wrapped his hands around his coffee cup.
“But Dr. Carpenter’s helping me understand why I do that.
Why I need to control everything. And it’s not healthy.
It’s not sustainable. And it cost me Nora. ”
“But you’re changing. That’s what matters.”
“I hope so. Because if I can’t change, if I can’t be what she needs, then I have to let her go. Have to accept that I’m not capable of being in a relationship.”
“Don’t think like that. You’re capable. You’re just learning how.”
On day ten, Carson had a breakthrough in therapy.
“I’m afraid,” he admitted to Dr. Carpenter. “That if I stop obsessing over work, if I stop trying to save everyone, then I’ll lose myself. That the job is all I am.”
“And who would you be without the job?”
“I don’t know. That’s what scares me.”
“Let’s find out. Tell me about Carson Black. Not Detective Black. Just Carson. Who is he?”
Carson struggled with the question. Because without the badge, without the cases, who was he?
“I like fishing,” he said slowly. “I like cooking, though I’m not great at it.
I like reading—mysteries, but also history, biographies.
I like running early in the morning when the city’s quiet.
I like—” He stopped. “I like who I am when I’m with Nora.
When I’m not thinking about work. When I’m just.. .me.”
“There,” she said with an approving smile. “That’s Carson. Not the detective. Not the man trying to save everyone. Just a person who has interests and preferences and the capacity for love.”
“But that doesn’t feel like enough,” he protested. “Doesn’t feel important.”
“Why does everything have to be important? Why can’t you just exist sometimes? Just be a person doing normal things?”
“Because…normal wasn’t enough to save Lily. Being a person doing normal things—being a kid on the phone—is why she disappeared.”
And there it was. The core belief that had driven him for nineteen years.
Normal wasn’t enough. Being just a person wasn’t enough. He had to be more—more vigilant, more dedicated, more everything. Or people would die.
“Carson,” Dr. Carpenter said gently. “You can’t live your entire life in crisis mode. You can’t sacrifice every normal moment because you’re afraid something bad will happen if you’re not hypervigilant. That’s not living. That’s just...existing in fear.”
“But what if something bad does happen?”
“Then it happens.” She shrugged. “And you deal with it. But you can’t prevent every tragedy. You can’t save everyone. And trying to do so is destroying you.”
Carson sat with that truth. Let it settle over him like a heavy blanket.
She was right. He knew she was right. But nineteen years of beliefs didn’t change in two weeks.
“This is going to take time,” he said.
“Yes. Change always does. But you’re doing the work. And that matters.”
***
On day fourteen—the last day of Carson’s leave—Nora made a decision.
She wanted to see him. Wanted to know if the changes were real. If therapy had actually helped or if this was just another temporary fix.
She texted: Can we meet? Tomorrow? Neutral ground. Just talk.
His response came within minutes: Yes. Wherever you want. Whenever you want. Thank you for giving me this chance.
They agreed to meet at the park by the lake. Two PM. Sunday afternoon.
That night, Nora barely slept. Tomorrow she’d find out if the man she loved had actually changed. Or if she’d be walking away for good.
And she had no idea which outcome she was hoping for.
***
Carson barely slept either.
Tomorrow he’d see Nora. Talk to her. Show her he’d changed.
Or fail. Again. And lose her forever.
He’d spent two weeks working on himself. Learning. Growing. Facing demons he’d avoided for nineteen years.
But was it enough? Could two weeks of therapy undo nineteen years of trauma and obsession?
Carson didn’t know. But tomorrow he’d find out.
And either way—whether she took him back or told him goodbye—he had to accept her decision.
Had to trust that whatever happened was what was supposed to happen.
Even if it broke his heart.
That was growth too. Accepting outcomes he couldn’t control. Trusting the process instead of trying to manipulate every variable.
Dr. Carpenter would be proud.
But would Nora?
Tomorrow, he’d find out.