Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Haelyn
The second I skipped into Dr. Loomis’s office, his entire demeanor changed with subtlety... nothing overt, yet enough for me to catch.
“Well,” he said slowly while adjusting his glasses, “you’re unusually chipper today. Care to share the good news?”
I smiled brightly while taking my usual seat. “Actually,” I said excitedly, “I have two wonderful pieces of news to share with you today.”
His eyes widened slightly, piquing his interest. “Well, do tell.”
I nodded proudly. “First… I have a job.”
His brows lifted with genuine surprise. “You do?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What kind of work?” he asked, leaning in slightly.
I crossed my legs, a confident gesture, and prepared to deliver my carefully curated response. “It’s more of a… sit-in job.”
Now technically, I wasn’t lying. I mean, I had ‘stolen’ Talia’s identity for a surrogate position.
“A sit-in job?” he echoed carefully, reaching for his little notepad with a sense of urgency. “Do explain.”
I suppressed an eye roll at how quickly he was prepared to jot down every detail.
“I sit with an elderly woman during the day for twelve hours, Monday through Thursday,” I explained with a smooth and practiced delivery.
“I help feed her, assist with bathing her when needed, and makes sure she takes her medication. Once all that is taken care of, we mostly just sit around watching TV together. It’s surprisingly pleasant. ”
He nodded slowly, writing furiously. “And the pay?” he probed, his pen hovering expectantly.
“Could definitely be better. But anything is better than sitting around doing nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.” He jotted down another note. “Haelyn, as I’ve mentioned before, structure and responsibility are vital, especially following long-term institutionalization. Establishing a routine helps people reconnect with normal life.”
If only he knew how connected to “normal life” I really was now.
“So,” he continued after a brief pause, “what’s this second surprise?”
I practically radiated joy as I grinned at him. “I’m pregnant! Can you believe it?!”
His pen stopped moving entirely.
The smile that had momentarily graced Dr. Loomis’s face disappeared so fast it was almost insulting. It was replaced by a look of incredulity that bordered on disapproval.
“Pregnant?” he echoed, confusion dancing in his eyes.
“I am!” I shrilled in excitement, as I quickly handed over the ultrasound.
He took it cautiously, staring down at the image with visible disbelief.
And just like that, the voices came rushing into my head all at once, crawling over each other so loudly it almost made my temples ache.
Maybe you should’ve kept that news to yourself a little bit longer.
He’s not pleased.
He thinks you’re unfit already.
He’s silently judging you.
My smile faltered slightly under the weight of those thoughts.
“How… how far along?” he asked finally, his voice noticeably shakier than before.
“Eight weeks.”
Dr. Loomis’s expression transformed into a blend of surprise and trepidation shadowing his features.
“Dr. Loomis, you don’t seem too happy by my news.”
“No, no,” he corrected quickly, almost defensively, as he returned the ultrasound to me.
“Any time someone is bringing a new life into the world, it’s a joyous occasion.
I’m simply…” He faltered, carefully choosing his words.
“Curious how this happened so soon considering your release was just over two months ago.”
The voices rose in volume again, loud, and insistent.
He thinks you trapped somebody.
He’s scared.
He regrets signing off on those release papers.
“Haelyn, I don’t mean to pry,” he added, his tone a mixture of concern and caution, “but is the father someone you knew before Willowgate?”
The father is Jace, Dr. Loomis! What type of girl do you take me for?! Jace is the only man I’ve ever truly loved, and the only man I’d willingly open my legs for.
But, of course, I couldn’t voice those thoughts to him. So, with the smooth facade of a practiced liar, I smiled softly and deflected.
“Actually, yes,” I said, weaving my false narrative.
“He used to have a crush on me while I was dating Jace. I never entertained it because I was loyal. But… I’ve been away for almost ten years.
No sex. No affection. No freedom. We happened to bump into each other after I got out, and…
” I gently rubbed my stomach, letting it serve as both a shield and a symbol of my new beginnings. “One thing kind of led to another.”
Dr. Loomis’s brow furrowed as he absorbed my words, nodding slowly. “Well… I’m happy for you,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
A voice in my head sneered at his polite facade.
Liar.
He’s terrified.
I straightened my posture, struggling to drown out the tumult in my mind.
“Thank you,” I replied, attempting to sound sincere. “Honestly, I never thought I’d get to experience this. There were times in Willowgate when I genuinely believed I might never see the outside world permanently again.”
My hand gravitated to my stomach once more, a habitual comfort.
Dr. Loomis seemed to soften momentarily but then his eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh God!”
I blinked in confusion. “What?!”
“Your medication… are you still taking it?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.
“Calm down, Doc,” I laughed lightly. “I did my research. I stopped as soon as I found out, which was fairly early in the process.”
He sighed a breath of relief. “Okay. Good.”
But then his expression turned serious once more, and I could tell he wasn’t finished yet.
“Haelyn…” He folded his hands in a careful gesture, signaling the gravity of what he was about to say.
“I truly am happy for you. But are you sure a baby is what you need right now? You’ve only just regained your independence.
You’re adjusting to life outside the institution, working to stabilize your existence, all while being off your medication. That’s… a lot, emotionally.”
I sighed internally.
Here we go.
Every fiber of my being wanted to unleash my frustration and tell him exactly how I felt.
“Dr. Loomis,” I spoke softly but firmly, maintaining the facade of calm.
“for ten years, I lived in a place where people forgot I existed. I had no family visits, no real friendships, and the chains of confinement wrapped around me tighter every day. I watched women lose themselves entirely. Some stopped talking… some even stopped caring whether they lived or died. There were nights I genuinely thought I’d die in that place. ”
My eyes fell to the floor, acknowledging the weight of those memories.
None of what I’d said at that moment was even exaggerated.
Dr. Loomis stayed silent.
“And now that I finally have another chance at life, I’m determined to do everything right… even if it looks messy to other people. I really have changed. I’m not that vengeful, unstable girl who first walked into your office all those years ago.”
Dr. Loomis looked at me with a mixture of concern and professional detachment.
“Well,” he began, his voice steady but sympathetic, “given that you’re off your medication and considering the added stress from the pregnancy hormones, I’d feel more comfortable seeing you twice a week instead of just once. It’s a precautionary measure."
Immediately I wanted to protest.
Twice a week?
Jesus Christ.
That felt overwhelming, like life had just looked me dead in the eye and said, “Actually, let’s make things worse.” But the thought of going back to Willowgate indefinitely? Absolutely not. That place felt like emotional solitary confinement. I couldn’t do it again. I’d fake my own death first.
“Okay,” I managed, surrendering to the reality of the situation.
Dr. Loomis adjusted his glasses before flipping open the thin manila folder sitting beside him.
“Now, before your surprise announcement completely derailed today’s session,” he continued, his gaze fixed on the notes inside, “I want to discuss some updated observations from Ms. Celeste Baptiste.”
Celeste.
She was the state-appointed reintegration counselor assigned to monitor every facet of my life post-release. In other words, she was the woman tasked with interrogating me about whether I was “emotionally regulating appropriately” every five damn minutes during our sessions.
Despite her role, she came off as a female version of Dr. Loomis.
They basically asked me the exact same questions under two different job titles.
It honestly felt like the court wanted extra caution after releasing me, so they split the responsibility between psychiatric supervision and behavioral reintegration just to make sure I didn’t spiral without somebody noticing.
Where Dr. Loomis exuded clinical sternness, Celeste attempted to wrap her inquiries in warmth, though I often sensed the performativity in her efforts.
As I watched Dr. Loomis skim over the notes, I couldn’t help but wonder how much had been shared between the two of them regarding my life.
“She had very positive things to report about you this week. You’ve been punctual for your appointments, cooperative in our sessions, maintaining proper hygiene and appearance, and showing markedly improved communication skills.
Furthermore, it appears you’re more socially engaged now… less withdrawn than before.”
Inside my mind, a voice scoffed, dismissing the praise.
That’s because we finally have a purpose now.
I pushed the thought aside, focusing on Dr. Loomis as he continued to read.
He cleared his throat slightly, then quoted from Celeste’s notes, “‘Patient appears optimistic about rebuilding her life and demonstrates increased confidence in her ability to function independently outside institutional care.’”
“See?” I beamed, proudly. “I told you I’ve been doing better!”
But his expression shifted just slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a touch of wariness. “You have,” he acknowledged, “but sudden shifts in personality and behavior after extended periods of institutionalization are still something we need to monitor closely.”
There it was… the suspicion hidden underneath the praise.
Always.
“She’s also observed some significant changes in your appearance over a short period.” He flipped the page of the folder. “It says here: ‘Patient appears to be investing heavily in physical presentation, including hair, makeup, wardrobe upgrades, and overall image maintenance.’"
I forced a laugh. “So looking cute is a red flag now?”
“No, but drastic changes in identity presentation can sometimes indicate emotional compensation, mania, impulsivity, or dissociation in those who have recently finished institutional care.”
The voices in my head buzzed with agitation at his words.
He thinks pretty equals dangerous.
He thinks confidence means you’re spiraling.
They always become uneasy when broken people start to look whole again.
He liked you better when you looked sad and harmless.
I straightened slightly in my chair.
“Or,” I countered smoothly, “maybe I’m finally getting to experience the joy of being a woman. Dr. Loomis, if you were forced to wear state-issued sadness for a decade, I’m sure once you got an inch of freedom, you’d want to indulge in some bundles and lip gloss too.”
To my surprise, a genuine laugh escaped him, breaking the tension in the room.
“Well,” he said, still amused, “when you put it like that, I suppose I can understand the desire for a little self-reinvention. Just promise me something, Haelyn.”
I tilted my head, curiosity piquing as I awaited his request.
“Don’t confuse looking better with being healed.”
I offered a reluctant nod.
Dr. Loomis then nodded, understanding flitting across his expression as he closed the folder decisively.
“Good. I’ll have scheduling set up for your second weekly appointment before you leave.”
I stood slowly, smoothing my shirt down over my stomach almost protectively.
“Good day, Dr. Loomis.”
“Same to you. Take care of yourself. And Haelyn?”
I paused near the door but didn’t turn around.
“I mean this sincerely… I do want things to work out for you.”
The voices erupted immediately, hissing over one another.
He doesn’t mean that.
Nobody ever does.
Don’t believe him.
For a fleeting moment, I almost listened to them.
Then I glanced back and caught the glimmer of genuine concern in his eyes. It was small, barely there, but enough to make some hidden part of me wonder if he actually cared.
“Yeah,” I replied quietly. “Me too.”
I walked out before the voices could convince me otherwise.