Chapter 47
ANDERSON
“Are you sure about this?”
I hold the door open to her therapist’s office, but she’s hesitant to walk through. She’s in the last week of her second trimester, and it’s crazy how much her belly has grown in these last few weeks.
I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that there’s a baby growing in there—a little girl who is half of me and half of Ava.
If I think about it too hard, my chest goes tight, and my eyes start to water, and if I do that now, Ava will for sure not walk through these doors.
“I’m sure,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the office with me, ignoring the small groan she lets escape.
We have some time this afternoon before we’re picking up Georgie from school, so she can come with us to our doctor’s appointment.
She came with us a couple of weeks ago to the anatomy scan, but with Ava doing her glucose test today, there’s some downtime during her appointment. Georgie and I figure we can keep her company before we all have to head to Georgie’s piano recital.
Ava has been feeling kicks and flutters these last couple of weeks, but there’s yet to be a kick big enough for me to feel on the outside, especially with her anterior placenta—the doctor said it might be a little harder to feel the baby’s movement.
I know it’ll come, though. And soon.
We give the receptionist a small wave before Ava leads me to the waiting area, and we take a seat.
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea,” Ava says, keeping her voice low, crossing her arms over her chest, and letting them settle on her bump.
She’s in a light yellow sundress that somehow makes her auburn hair look even redder.
Her freckles are more prominent from the June sun, her cheeks and the tip of her nose still a little red from the sunburn she got over the weekend at Georgie’s soccer tournament.
I lean on the armrest so my shoulder touches her, my hand coming to her thigh. “I don’t have to go in if you don’t want me to. I don’t mind waiting out here.” My thumb aimlessly draws circles on the soft skin of her leg. “I can come back another day.”
Ava lays her head on my shoulder, and my stomach flips. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to these tiny displays of affection from her, especially after pleading and praying for them for so long. “No,” she says on a sigh. “I’m happy you’re here.”
It’s been over a year since our drive-in date, and I don’t know what I did to end up here.
I spent nights lying awake in my bed, picturing what my life with Ava could look like if I just told her how I felt—and she wanted to hear it.
And even though things didn’t go as planned, there’s nothing I would change about the way it all worked out.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I quickly check the text, causing Ava to lift her head, her attention going to her own phone while we wait for Dr. Abbie.
It’s another message from Auggie—he’s been reaching out more and more these last couple of weeks, and I can’t say I’m not surprised. He’s been checking in on me, seeing how Ava’s doing, even asking about updates on the pregnancy.
When he first texted me a few weeks ago, asking how my weekend was, I couldn’t deny my confusion.
I convinced myself that he had to need something.
But when we just went back and forth a few times, filling each other in on what we’ve been up to, the conversation naturally ended without him needing my help or asking me to do anything.
My phone buzzes again.
Are you coming home anytime soon? We miss you around here
Miss you guys too. Things are a little busy right now, but maybe after the baby comes?
How’s everything at home? How’s mom?
No worries.
Things are all good here. Let me know when you plan on making the trip.
I reread our messages—and I can’t help thinking we just made a step in the right direction.
The door to one of the offices opens, causing Ava to lift her head from my shoulder.
“Hello, Ava.” Dr. Abbie’s long braids fall over her shoulders as she stands at the door, one hand resting lightly against the frame while she opens it wider.
Thick-rimmed glasses catch the light as she smiles with an easy, practiced warmth that has Ava’s shoulders relaxing and her palms opening to rest at her sides.
We both stand, closing the distance between us and Dr. Abbie.
I reach out a hand to her. “I’m Anderson,” I say, introducing myself. “Ava’s husband,” I add, just because I like saying it.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dr. Abbie replies as my hand wraps around hers. “Ava mentioned you were interested in joining our session today to learn more about how you can best support her with her OCD.”
I nod. “That’s right.” I turn to Ava, wanting to follow her lead. I know she’s apprehensive about having me join, and I think it comes from that guarded part of her that thinks she has to be the one holding it all together—that she can’t ask for help, even when she needs it.
Dr. Abbie follows my gaze. “Do you still want Anderson to join us today, Ava?” she asks, her voice calm, a kindness funneling through that makes me instantly feel I can trust this woman to be in Ava’s corner.
Ava sighs before she steps past both me and Dr. Abbie, entering the office like it’s her own. “Let’s get this over with,” she says, and my lips twitch.
Dr. Abbie and I make eye contact, a soft curve to her lips as she gestures to have me enter before closing the door behind us.
“So,” she starts, once she’s seated at her desk.
“How has your week been, Ava?” Her office is small but not suffocating.
It feels inviting and private at the same time.
Soft light filters through the sheer curtains, settling over a pair of armchairs angled toward each other.
There’s a low table in the middle of the room with a sofa where Ava sits, lining the wall just across from Dr. Abbie’s office.
My eyes find the shelves lined with books and small details—plants, framed photos, and knick-knacks—that make the room feel less clinical than I expected.
I do virtual therapy sessions, and Ava mentioned she uses a hybrid approach depending on her work schedule. Since we are both off today, it worked out to do an in-person session.
“It’s been good,” Ava says before going on to explain what she’s been up to between work, Georgie’s schedule, and updates with the pregnancy. She does most of the talking with Dr. Abbie nodding along and asking clarifying questions every so often as she listens intently.
“So what I’m hearing is that there’s a lot of different responsibilities you’re balancing,” she says, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses up on her nose, crossing one leg over the other as she gently sways back and forth in her desk chair.
“It sounds like you’re balancing them in a way that’s working for you.
” She glances at me before her eyes go back to Ava. “How has your ERP been going?”
Ava explained to me that her therapist usually starts her sessions by asking how Ava’s doing, and then going from there. She also mentioned that Dr. Abbie has been working with Ava on Exposure and Response Prevention for her OCD.
When I asked her about it, she explained that it’s a form of cognitive-behavioral therapy that works by gradually exposing a patient to fear-inducing thoughts or situations while working to refrain from the compulsion—for Ava, I’ve learned that’s usually her need to count to seventeen.
Ava explained that starting ERP with Dr. Abbie required a lot of hard work with identifying her triggers with the goal of increasing her ability to tolerate the uncertainty and discomfort that her OCD creates and sparks her need to count until she gets to her “just right” or “safe” number.
“I’ve noticed I’ve been able to stop bargaining with myself. I remember what you said about how that still can perpetuate the compulsion, so I’ve been trying to stay focused on delaying the counting, which has been working,” Ava explains, and pride blooms in my chest.
“Good,” Dr. Abbie says, a grin on her face, and my heart clenches at the genuine happiness for Ava on her face. “Have you upped the number of minutes like we talked about last week?”
Ava nods. “Depending on the day and the trigger, I’ve been delaying for about ten minutes. I’ve been setting a timer, and that has been working well for me. Usually, when it goes off, the compulsion has subsided enough to ignore and move on.”
“That’s amazing, Ava,” Dr. Abbie praises. “You should be so proud.”
“I am,” Ava says shyly, one hand finding her belly and the other reaching to hold my hand between us. She does it instinctively, like it’s second-nature, and my entire body warms at the thought.
A moment of silence passes before Dr. Abbie turns to me. I’ve stayed silent during the session, not wanting to interrupt—I’m here to observe and learn how to be the best partner I can be to Ava.
“Let’s talk about ways we can continue to support Ava with her Exposure Response Prevention journey,” she says, and I nod. “There are a few things I think would be helpful for her, especially with this upcoming life transition, where changes to routines and what we are used to are to be expected.”
“I’m willing to do whatever she needs me to do,” I offer, and Ava squeezes my hand.
Dr. Abbie smiles. “The first step is understanding Ava’s type of OCD and the type of ERP therapy we’re working through, which we’ll be sure to really dive into today. Ava has discussed with you the details of her specific type of OCD, correct?”
I nod.
“Great,” Dr. Abbie replies. “That’s essential to understanding how to support her.
In addition, while things are really going well at the moment, this type of therapy is rarely linear.
It’s important that you view OCD as something that Ava will always live with, not just something that will magically heal with the right amount of therapy.
” She goes on to explain the importance of limiting reassurance and highlighting Ava’s strength, not her distress, and her consistency, not her perfection.
She also mentions how Ava has chosen not to take any medication for her OCD, instead focusing on ERP therapy, before briefly explaining how OCD is different for everyone.
“While the underlying cycle of obsessions and compulsions is the same, the specific themes, fears, and behaviors vary widely between individuals. This means treatment for OCD is unique and deeply personal to each person,” she explains.
“I know this is a lot,” Ava adds, and I turn to look at her. I see it in her eyes, the words she leaves unsaid—that she’s a lot.
“It’s not,” I answer, bringing her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to the skin. “You’re not,” I add. “This is nothing we can’t handle.”
She offers me a small smile before turning back to Dr. Abbie.
“Do you have any questions?” the therapist asks.
I shake my head. “Like I said, I’m willing to do everything I can to support Ava with this.”
She cocks her head, her eyes assessing. “And there’s a fine line to all of this,” she highlights.
“It goes without saying that it’s important you also take care of yourself, too.
Watching someone go through this type of therapy with this type of mental illness can stir up your own anxiety and discomfort.
Supporting them doesn’t mean ignoring your own emotional needs. ”
I swallow, my face feeling warm all of a sudden. I feel exposed in a way that I’ve only ever felt in my own therapy sessions. I run a hand through my hair. “I understand.”
Dr. Abbie continues, “We need Ava to feel supported but not like you are stepping in to save her.”
The words hit hard, reopening a wound I feel like will never fully heal.
I’ve learned over these last months that there’s something deep inside of me that feels like it’s my job to save the people I love—Ava, Georgie, my mom, my brothers, my friends.
And the overwhelming guilt that I feel is always lingering, faint enough that I can ignore it, but still there, stems from that place.
I want to take care of them—to save them from the hurt, the hardship, the world—but I’ve been doing it to the point that I’ve sacrificed myself.
But Dr. Abbie’s words offer a new way of thinking—I can support my loved ones with the intensity and urgency that I want, but I can’t cross that line of doing it all for them at the price of myself.
Saving them, as Dr. Abbie puts it, doesn’t help them.
And I’ve seen with my brothers and my mom first-hand that it truly only hurts us all in the end.