Chapter Twenty-Three
D elia sat in the waiting room with sweaty palms and a thumping heart. She clamped her hands around the edges of the wooden seat and fought the powerful impulse to bolt. Deep breaths should calm her. Tom was right, she needed to do this.
She closed her eyes, and the unbidden image of Gabriel and Vanessa holding hands appeared vividly before her. Tears seeped from under her lashes. This was the very pain she’d spent her life trying to avoid. It had caught up with her in spite of it all.
“Dr. Cordelia Wright?”
Delia’s eyelids flew open. She sat up straight, quickly dashing the tears away. “Yes, that’s me.”
A tall, middle-aged woman with ice-gray hair cut in a fashionable bob, her eyes framed by the dark rim of designer glasses, smiled at her. “Very nice to meet you, I’m Dr. Evelyn Ashford.”
Delia shook the older woman’s hand, the academic snob in her approving of the psychologist’s doctorate. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite so excruciating to reveal the wounds of her soul, after all.
She’d have to be in it for the long haul.
Tom had warned her that therapy wasn’t a quick fix.
All this inner work would have to be done by her, and she’d have to find out where the hell her feelings were located in her body.
It sounded fairly esoteric, but her usual avenues were exhausted.
Thinking things through on her own had got her into this mess.
During session one, two, and three, Delia addressed the most formative moments of her childhood.
She could see the sense in that—Dr. Ashford needed some background info.
But the time had come to broach the subject that had prompted her to see a psychologist in the first place.
Session four—showtime. Come on, Delia, face it head on.
Slumped in the chair opposite Evelyn, Delia forced herself to inhale deeply. “What brought me here is the simple story of a man and a woman falling in love and making a terrible mess of things.” She coughed. “It was mostly me who ruined it.”
Evelyn glanced from her notebook, her expression friendly and welcoming. “Remember, we talked about you not always being so hard on yourself. Try practicing some self-compassion.”
“Yes,” Delia mumbled. She had googled ‘self-compassion’ more than once but had a tough time retaining what it meant and how to practice it.
Evelyn waved her pen at her. “Please continue.”
Delia grasped the armrests of her chair and gave a succinct overview of how she met Gabriel, and how they had decided to try for a baby together.
“I relaxed once the parameters were set. There was no danger of us stepping into the fraught territory of a romantic relationship. We were friends having fun, getting ready to co-parent. So, involuntarily, I opened up and...I suppose...fell in love with him. Early on, I cared for him deeply as a friend, and physically, we were well suited. But it took the stupidest of reasons for me to admit to myself that my heart and soul loved him too—jealousy, the idea that I can’t have him even if I told him of my feelings.
” Delia unsuccessfully fought the oncoming tears.
The psychotherapist lifted a box of tissues from a nearby table and offered it to her.
Delia plucked several from the box, dried her eyes, then blew her nose. “I’m sorry, I...” she sniffled.
Evelyn replaced the tissues on the table and caught Delia’s eye. “Self-...”
“...Compassion, I know.” Delia took a few moments to collect herself and began again. “I have to let him go—the idea of us. I’m not good for him. He’s building a future with a woman who is much better suited.”
Creases appeared on Evelyn’s forehead. “This sounds to me as if you’re feeling unworthy of love.
Are you sabotaging the love that is freely given to you because you’re afraid it will be snatched from you at a moment’s notice?
Do you believe it’s conditional, that sooner or later you’ll be found lacking? ”
The diagnosis hit the mark so directly, it pressed the air right out of Delia’s lungs. She fought for breath and composure and lost on both accounts.
The therapist pushed the box of tissues toward her once more.
“This is the place where you can cry. Please know this is a normal reaction. The impact of childhood trauma or neglect means we oftentimes see ourselves as objects unworthy of affection. We believe we’re broken.
When in reality the fault lies squarely with the person or persons who ignored our boundaries, were overly critical, or betrayed us. ”
Delia raised her head and peered at Evelyn through her tears. “Thank you, that sounds...plausible.”
Evelyn smiled at her warmly. “You have been guarding your heart your whole life. But you can live open-heartedly and still set your boundaries and show discernment. In fact, you should. But you must accept that life always involves risk. If you remove risk, you remove the aliveness.”
Delia blinked. All this information threatened to overwhelm her. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
The therapist steepled her hands and focused on Delia. “What singles you out like that? What makes what’s hard for everybody especially hard for you? And don’t you believe it’s the lot of mankind to deal with the risk of being hurt, to have no guarantee for happiness?”
Delia dropped her head. “I’m aware it’s hard for everybody. But I have the tendency to think other people are more whole, more equipped for an emotional life than I am.”
Evelyn leaned forward. “You can learn, Delia, and you will. This little life you’re carrying will fill you with such love, you’ll have no choice but to open up.”
Delia laid a hand on her belly, still flat but already harboring a little being carrying her and Gabriel’s DNA. “Yes, I’ll learn,” she said.
“Your childhood experience was indeed difficult, but you’re an adult now.” Evelyn’s expression softened. “Don’t allow your parents’ dysfunctional relationship to shape and guide your life decisions. From now on, don’t let it mar your chance of happiness.”
Delia could only nod. A heaviness had lifted, because she was certain she would manage. She’d get over Gabriel and be a good mother to their child.
~ * ~
W ork on the Hall had taken over every waking hour that Gabriel wasn’t busy with clients’ accounts, and the effort had paid off.
All twenty-six rooms were rewired. Next up was the planning of the necessary plumbing work, but first he had to contact Evelyn.
He’d put it off long enough, but he needed her help if he was to co-parent with Delia.
With the therapist’s support, he’d find a way to get on with his life and recreate a stable relationship with Vanessa.
He took his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen. Unthinking, he navigated to his messenger app, and Delia’s words ambushed him anew.
I got your letter. Thank you. Please hold on to the portrait until...
Here the first bubble ended, the second one read:
until it’s a little easier for me to see you.
He stared at his phone; his knuckles white from holding onto it with such force.
until it’s a little easier for me to see you.
It took every ounce of his will to unclench his fingers and delete her message. He absolutely forbade himself to read all his wishes into it—that it meant she missed him too, that she hurt like he hurt, that she had changed her mind, that she loved him.
He reread her second message, the one she’d sent him a couple of hours later, asking whether her brother could collect the portrait for her. He couldn’t delete that one since it contained Tom’s mobile number, and he still needed it to make arrangements for the collection.
Gut-wrenching, how she went out of her way to avoid him. But probably for the best. It would be insane to hang around for Delia while she went hot and cold on him. Vanessa wanted to be with him now, and she wasn’t afraid of loving him.
Since Gabriel had been a patient with Dr. Ashford before, albeit a decade ago, he was put straight through. After a warm greeting from the therapist, who had helped him deal with his grief after the death of his mother, he took a deep breath and told her about his current predicament.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Evelyn cut in, “a geneticist, you say?”
“Yes, at Renwood University.”
“Oh dear, Gabriel, I’m afraid there’s a problem. I won’t be able to treat you, and I’m not at liberty to disclose why. However, I can recommend my colleague Christopher Miller. Are you going private?”
Disappointment landed like a wet cloth in his face. He’d counted on Evelyn’s help. “Well, no, I won’t be able to afford that. I’d need a referral.”
“No problem at all,” she said. “I don’t have Christopher’s phone number handy, but you’ll be able to find his address on the internet. He also has his practice here in Renwood. Your GP should know him.”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Gabriel did his best to sound upbeat.
Evelyn’s support had been invaluable ten years ago, and he hated the idea of having to establish trust with a new psychotherapist. He rang off and swallowed hard to get rid of a bitter taste in his mouth.
There was no way around it, he would have to spill the beans to Evelyn’s colleague.
He opened a browser on his phone and typed in ‘Miller, psychotherapist, Renwood.’
~ * ~
T om indicated right and took the turn to Renwood Hall. He had no idea what awaited him once he got there. Other than that he’d have to get a large painting into the back of the van he’d borrowed from a friend.
The last time he’d seen Gabriel, the man had been in bits and clearly crazy about Delia. Tom had taken the opportunity to more or less warn him off his sister. A warning that had gone unheeded and now...
What a mess. Delia pregnant and heart-broken, and the earl moving on with the ex-fiancée soon-to-become a regular fiancée again, by the looks of it.