CHAPTER 36
Elena
Dr. Bonnie’s office carried a faint scent of chamomile and something clean, like warm linen drying in sunlight. It was the kind of smell that made people think of rest—even when their bodies had long forgotten how to believe they deserved it.
The curtains were drawn halfway to soften the late-afternoon glare, and the room held the same quiet neutrality it always did—no loud ticking clocks, no harsh fluorescent lights. Just space. Space that had been made for honesty.
I sat on the sofa with my legs crossed at the ankles. My bag rested beside my feet, untouched. My phone was turned off. I’d learned quickly that if I let even a single notification through, my mind would seize it gladly, turning it into an excuse to run.
Dr. Bonnie sat across from me, unhurried, not steering me toward the core as if emotions were just another schedule to manage.
“How was Family Day?” she asked gently.
The question sounded small, harmless, almost casual—like she was asking about grocery shopping. But my chest tightened anyway. My gaze dropped to the soft carpet beneath my feet, its pattern blurring slightly as my focus slipped.
“It...” I started, then paused. “It was good for Haille.”
Dr. Bonnie nodded once. “And for you?”
That was her. She always brought the focus back to me, as if it was a responsibility I couldn’t keep dodging.
“It was...” I started again, but my voice faltered, the sentence collapsing before it could fully take shape.
Dr. Bonnie didn’t interrupt. She only tilted her head slightly, waiting like she had all the time in the world.
I exhaled through my nose, slow, controlled. “It was strange,” I admitted.
“Strange how?”
I stared down at my hands, the wedding ring that wasn’t there anymore. The absence still felt like something my skin had to learn.
“He was there,” I said quietly.
I didn’t say his name. Sometimes saying it out loud felt like inviting him back into places I had only just begun to reclaim.
Dr. Bonnie watched me carefully. “And what did you feel?”
“I didn’t... panic,” I said, and the words sounded unfamiliar even to me.
Dr. Bonnie didn’t react, but I saw the slight shift in her expression, like she understood exactly why that mattered.
“You didn’t panic,” she repeated.
I nodded again. My throat tightened.
“And that scares you,” she said gently.
My eyes lifted to hers, startled. Because she was right. Too right.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Dr. Bonnie leaned forward slightly. “Can you tell me why that scares you?”
I swallowed.
I could still see it in my head—the daycare field filled with parents and children, the sound of laughter, the smell of cheap snacks and grass under the sun. I could still hear Haille’s voice, the way she screamed, “Hi, Mommy! Hi, Daddy!” like she was announcing something sacred.
I could still feel the moment Adrian’s arm brushed mine.
It hadn’t set my body on fire the way it used to.
It hadn’t made my skin crawl either.
It had just... happened.
And that was what terrified me.
“Because for years,” I said slowly, “whenever he was near me, my body reacted as if I were under threat.”
My fingers curled in my lap, nails pressing faintly into skin. “I would feel it before I even thought it,” I continued. “My chest would tighten. My stomach would drop. My mind would start preparing—like something bad was about to happen, even if nothing was happening.”
I paused. “But yesterday...” my voice softened. “Yesterday I stood next to him and nothing screamed.”
I looked down again, voice quieter, almost raw. “It felt... normal.”
Dr. Bonnie’s voice came gently. “That’s a big shift, Elena.”
“I know.” My breath trembled slightly. “And it’s supposed to be a good thing.”
“But it doesn’t feel like a good thing,” she said.
I shook my head once, sharp. “It feels like danger,” I whispered. “Because if I can stand next to him like that... if I can look at him and not feel my body fighting...”
A lump formed in my throat.
“It means I could start hoping again.” My voice cracked on the last word, like it didn’t want to be spoken.
“I don’t trust hope,” I admitted. “I don’t trust my own softness.”
Dr. Bonnie’s face remained calm, but her voice softened further. “Elena,” she said, “do you know what you just described?”
I frowned slightly.
“You described your body finally learning that the danger isn’t happening anymore.”
The sentence hit me in the chest. I stared at her like she had just named something I didn’t know could be named.
“The danger...” I repeated slowly.
Dr. Bonnie nodded. “Your body stored betrayal as threat. That’s why you felt alert around him. That’s why even ordinary moments felt unsafe.”
I swallowed, the word betrayal scraping something inside me.
“And yesterday...” she continued, “your body didn’t respond the same way.”
My lips parted slightly. The realization was slow, like ice melting.
“So what does that mean?” I asked, voice smaller than I wanted.
“It means you’re healing,” she said simply.
The word didn’t feel like relief, it felt like grief. Because healing meant what happened had been real enough to require it.
I looked away, blinking fast. “But...” I hesitated, voice thinning, “if I’m healing, why do I still feel... sad?”
Dr. Bonnie’s gaze stayed steady. “Because healing doesn’t erase loss,” she said gently.
I frowned. “What loss?” I asked, even though I already knew.
She let the silence stretch long enough for the truth to settle without force. “The loss of what could have been,” she answered quietly. “The life you deserved before betrayal entered it. The version of you that trusted love without bracing.”
My eyes burned instantly.
Because she was right.
Yesterday hadn’t just been a daycare event. It had been a mirror. A cruel reminder.
I inhaled shakily. “There was a moment,” I said after a pause, “when the teacher asked for a family photo.”
My voice dipped. “And I stood there and... I froze.”
I could still see it—couples moving together naturally, husbands sliding arms around wives, wives leaning into them without thought. Children pressed between two people who still belonged to each other.
And then me.
And him.
And Haille’s small hand holding both of ours.
“I smiled,” I whispered. “I stood there.”
My throat tightened. “And for one second... I pictured it.”
Dr. Bonnie didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her silence already understood.
“What it would look like,” I continued, voice trembling, “if he hadn’t destroyed it. If we were still... whole.” The word made my breath hitch. I hadn’t realized until now how much I still mourned the idea of being whole.
“I wasn’t imagining it because I want him back,” I said quickly, like I needed to clarify. Like I needed to protect myself from misinterpretation.
Dr. Bonnie nodded calmly. “I understand.”
“I imagined it,” I whispered, “because my heart still remembers what it wanted to be.”
“You said something earlier,” she said softly. “That you’re seeing Adrian differently.”
“Yes.” I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, embarrassed by the softness of myself.
“How?” She asked.
I exhaled slowly. “He’s... different,” I said. “Not in a performative way.”
I looked up. “It’s the little things,” I continued. “The way he asked permission with his eyes. The way he didn’t touch me. The way he didn’t try to stand too close even when it would’ve looked better for the photo.”
I paused.
“He respected the line,” I whispered. “And yesterday, I didn’t see him as the man who betrayed me.”
My voice came quieter than I meant it to, like a confession I wasn’t proud to own. “I saw him as someone else. Someone who has lived with consequences long enough to change.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Dr. Bonnie’s voice came gently. “And what does that mean to you?”
I stared at the floor.
“It means...” I swallowed, “the version of him I hated isn’t standing in front of me anymore.”
My fingers twisted together in my lap. I could feel my heartbeat in my palms, slow and stubborn, like it was trying to teach my body a new rhythm.
“And that makes me feel lost,” I admitted, the words coming out quieter than I expected. “Because hatred was easier.”
The words came out raw and honest.
Hatred had been my fuel, my armor, my certainty—because if I hated him, I didn’t have to make room for softness, didn’t have to risk disappointment again, didn’t have to wonder what healing might open inside me.
Dr. Bonnie nodded slowly, like she’d been waiting for me to say that. “Anger can feel safer than grief,” she said softly.
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“And hope,” she added gently, “can feel more dangerous than pain, because pain is familiar.”
I closed my eyes. “Exactly,” I whispered.
Dr. Bonnie leaned forward slightly, voice warm but firm. “Elena,” she said, “healing doesn’t mean you have to go back.”
I opened my eyes again.
“It doesn’t mean you have to reconcile,” she continued. “It doesn’t mean you owe him anything.”
Her voice stayed steady. “Healing means you are reclaiming your body from survival. You are giving yourself permission not to be alert forever.”
My chest tightened. My hands trembled faintly. “But what if...” I hesitated, “what if I start seeing him as safe again?”
“Then you decide what to do with that information.” Dr. Bonnie held my gaze. “Safety doesn’t require romance.” She let the words land.
“You can see him as safe,” she added, quieter now, “and still not choose him.”
The words settled into me slowly. Because I had been treating every shift inside me like it demanded a decision. Like if my heart softened, I had to return. Like if my body stopped bracing, I had to forgive completely. Like healing meant going backward.
But there was one thing I hadn’t considered—maybe healing could mean something else.
Moving forward. And forward didn’t always lead back to him.
“So what do I do with this?” I asked quietly.
Dr. Bonnie smiled gently. “You do nothing right now,” she said. “You observe.”
I blinked.
“You don’t force conclusions,” she continued. “You don’t rush meaning. And you don’t punish yourself for feeling better.”
She met my eyes, then added, “Just because your body is starting to relax doesn’t mean your life has to change.”
The words hit me like warmth, loosening the tightness in my chest—not completely, but enough to make me understand the truth I’d been avoiding.
I wasn’t scared of healing. I was scared of what healing would unlock.
Because the moment Adrian stopped feeling like a threat. .. he would start feeling like home.