Chapter 23
Abigail fidgeted with the strap of her purse, readjusting herself on the waiting room chair. When she’d agreed to go to counseling, she’d figured it would take a few weeks to get an appointment, but it turned out that Simeon had a counselor friend in Brampton who had managed to fit them in with only a day’s notice.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Simeon whispered with a soothing smile.
Abigail tried to mimic the expression. But her eyes darted around the space. It was modern looking, with white walls and sleek black chairs. A tree she was pretty sure was fake stood in the corner. She got up to look. “It’s real,” she said in surprise.
“It is.” A woman’s laugh made Abigail spin around.
“Don’t worry. I had to check it too when I first moved into the space. I’m still considering redecorating, but the tree stays either way.”
“Everlee.” Simeon stood and directed his smile to the blonde woman, who appeared to be in her early fifties. “Thanks for seeing us so quickly. This is my wife, Abigail.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” Everlee glided across the room, holding out a hand to Abigail with an open smile. “Let’s go have a seat in my office. Can I get y’all some coffee?”
They declined, and Everlee led them into a spacious office with soft gray walls, a comfy looking couch and chairs, and a breathtaking view of the mountains outside.
Simeon’s fingers brushed Abigail’s back as he stood aside to let her take a seat. It wasn’t the first time his touch had caused a tingle to travel up her spine.
She chose a spot on the couch, and Simeon sat next to her, seeming completely relaxed.
Of course he was. He’d been here before. He knew Everlee. He knew how counseling worked.
She didn’t.
And even if she did, she wouldn’t remember.
She sighed, and both Simeon and Everlee focused their attention on her.
“Sorry.” She ducked her head.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Everlee’s tone was light and gentle. “Do you want to tell us what you were thinking?”
“Oh. Um.” Abigail licked her lips, letting her eyes go to the window. “I was just thinking that Simeon has the advantage here, since he already knows you and I don’t. And even if I did, I wouldn’t remember.”
“Abigail, there’s no advantage or disadvantage.” Simeon shifted on the couch, and she could tell he was looking at her, though she couldn’t bring her eyes to his. “This isn’t you against me or me against you. This is you and me together.” A note of sadness had crept into his voice, and Abigail accidentally sighed again. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.
“Does it bother you that Simeon remembers things that you don’t?” Everlee asked.
Abigail pressed her lips together before she could blurt the response that had instantly sprung to mind. But when neither Simeon nor Everlee said anything for a full minute, she let herself say it. “Not as much as it bothers him.” Though she hadn’t spoken loudly, the words seemed to crack around the room, and she winced. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Everlee assured her again.
But one glance at Simeon’s stricken expression told Abigail otherwise.
“It’s not that I don’t wish I remembered,” she tried to explain. “It’s just that I don’t feel like this other woman he seems to think I am. And every time I do something differently than she would or pick a different favorite than she would have, I feel like, I don’t know . . . I’m disappointing him.”
“Abigail.” Simeon’s voice was quiet, strained, like he was trying too hard to remain calm. “There is no other woman. She is you.”
Abigail shook her head, brushing aside the hair that fell in her face. “But that’s what I’m saying. She feels like someone else. Someone I can’t live up to. You have all these memories of her, but I can’t be her because I don’t remember her.”
“I don’t— I can’t—” Simeon fumbled to a stop, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m not trying to make you feel like you have to be someone else,” he finally said. “I’m just trying to help you remember yourself.”
“And what if she never does?” Everlee’s question was quiet, but it made Abigail jump. She’d almost forgotten the counselor was in the room. Simeon seemed to have the same reaction.
His brow scrunched, and he turned to Everlee. “I’m not ready to give up, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not.” Everlee fixed him with a hard look that surprised Abigail. Were counselors allowed to do that? “I’m asking what if she doesn’t get her memories back?” Everlee repeated. “Will you still love her?”
Simeon let out a hard breath. “Of course I will, but—” He broke off and stared toward a painting on the far side of the room. Abigail looked at it too. It was abstract swirls of color, and Abigail wondered if it was supposed to represent how she felt inside.
“Maybe it’s time—” Everlee’s voice gentled. “For the two of you to stop trying to fix Abigail’s memory.”
Simeon started to protest, but Everlee raised a hand to stop him. “I’m not saying she won’t get her memories back. I’m saying instead of trying to snatch back the past, maybe it’s time to look to the future. Get to know each other again, as you are now.”
Abigail nodded slowly. She did want to get to know Simeon better. But did he want to know her—the new her?
He was still staring at that painting, but he turned to her. “I think that’s a good idea. What about you?”
“Me too,” she whispered.
“Good.” Everlee jotted a note as she spoke. “Try to approach it as if you’ve just met. You don’t know anything about each other yet. Start dating again, that kind of thing.”
“Does that mean—” Abigail’s words came out too quietly, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Well, when people just start dating, they don’t usually say, ‘I love you,’ do they?”
Simeon turned to her, his eyes incredulous. “You don’t want me to tell you I love you?” He gave a choked laugh and shook his head.
Abigail bit her lip and turned to Everlee, who nodded for her to answer. “It’s a lot of pressure,” she said slowly. “I can feel him waiting for me—or well, her—to say it back. But I don’t know him well enough to know if . . .”
The anguish in Simeon’s eyes made her stop.
“Simeon?” Everlee asked. “How do you feel about that?”
Simeon was still staring at Abigail. “I can stop saying it,” he said slowly. “But I can’t stop doing it. I could never stop loving you, Abigail, no matter what.”
Unexpected tears tickled the edges of her eyelashes, and she sniffed. She wanted to ask him why—why he would keep loving her when she had so little to give him in return—but she just nodded.
“Is there anything else you think would help you feel like you were both starting fresh, like you’d just met?” Everlee asked.
Simeon shook his head, but Abigail took a breath. He gave her a wary look.
She had to turn away, or she wouldn’t be able to say this. “If we were just starting to date, I wouldn’t be wearing this.” She spun the wedding ring on her finger, watching the sunlight that streamed in from the window spark off its teardrop-shaped diamond. It was a beautiful ring, but—
The couch shifted as Simeon stood and strode to the window.
Abigail could only stare helplessly after him. She’d never seen him lose his composure before—not even in the hospital when she’d said she didn’t recognize him.
“What is it about wearing the ring that’s hard for you?” Everlee asked.
“It’s just—” Abigail kept her eyes on Simeon. Though his back was to her, she guessed from the angle of his elbows that he was pressing his fingertips into his eyes or maybe pinching the bridge of his nose. She couldn’t say anything else. He didn’t deserve this from the woman he knew as his wife—even if she didn’t know herself that way.
He cleared his throat and turned back toward them. “Sorry. Go on.” He didn’t move back to the couch, but he nodded, as if he wanted to know what she was going to say.
“It’s just,” she began again, shifting her gaze back to the ring. “Sometimes it feels like I woke up one day to some kind of arranged marriage. One that I didn’t have a choice in.”
At Simeon’s quiet sound of protest, she lifted her eyes to him. “I mean, I know I did have a choice. Or she did. And I know she is me, but . . .” She shook her head helplessly. None of this was making any sense. And it was multiplying the pain in Simeon’s eyes. Maybe she was being selfish. Maybe she should just accept that she was his wife, let him teach her who she was supposed to be. Eventually, maybe she would even become that woman again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— I can keep wearing it.”
“No.” Simeon shook his head and moved back to the couch. He sat slowly, then held out a hand, palm up. “I don’t want you to feel like that. You should take off the ring. For now.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded stiffly, and she slid the ring off her finger, setting it carefully into his hand.
He stared at her for a moment, then closed his fingers around it and brought his eyes to hers. “I intend to give this back to you someday.”
Abigail swallowed and nodded. She may not be ready to be his wife yet, but she really did hope she would be one day.