Obsession
Cade
The moment I collided with her, something shifted inside of me. Aviana Rendrop. The name already stood out when I first reviewed my roster, but I hadn’t expected her to look so much like Izabella. The same honey wheat hair, her eyes so haunted — like she carried the weight of something unspoken. It sent a jolt through me.
I had told myself I was past this, past the need to chase ghosts. Yet, as I stood there, watching her stammer out an apology, my mind raced with the possibilities. She was intriguing, guarded and the way she put distance between us only made me want to be closer to her.
I offered her a smile, “No need to apologize,” keeping my voice warm. “How about I join you? The trails are beautiful this time of day.”
I could see her hesitate, the gears turning in her mind. “I’ll see you later for our session,” she pointed out.
Smart girl. I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away from me. “Why wait?” I countered smoothly.
I could see her hesitating for a brief second, I worried she would decline. But then, almost reluctantly, she nodded. “Sure, why not?”
It was a start. A step closer.
As we walked, I let her take the lead, watching the way she moved—how she kept her arms tucked close to her body, how she glanced around as if she always needed an escape plan. It only deepened my intrigue. Aviana wasn’t like the others. She had layers, and I wanted to peel them back, one by one.
“So, Aviana,” I started, keeping my tone casual. “How are you adjusting to the retreat?”
She shrugged. “It’s fine.”
I chuckled. “As a therapist, I know that is not a real answer.”
She glanced at me, lips twitching as if she were suppressing a smile. “Well it is as real as you’re going to get.”
I liked that. The defiance, the reluctance to give away too much. It only made me more determined to learn everything about her.
We walked in silence for a while, the sound of rustling leaves filling the gaps between words. I could sense her unease, but she didn’t pull away. That was good. It meant she was already warming up to me.
I took the time we walked to discuss changing up her schedule. I already had one session a day with her. I wanted more. I needed more. After explaining to her the benefits, she took the bait.
Finally, she sighed. “Alright. I’ll give it a try.”
Victory.
I smiled. “Good. Meet me at the trail after dinner. We’ll start there.”
She nodded, though I could tell she was still unsure. That was fine. It wouldn’t take long for her to see that I was right.
I left her walking on her own. I had to get ready for other patients, followed by dinner and then my first evening of many with Aviana.
As much as she reminded me of Izabella, she wasn’t her. Aviana was something new, something unexpected. I wasn’t about to let her slip through my fingers.
She was mine now.
She just didn’t know it yet.
***
Back in my office, I shut the door behind me, the familiar scent of leather and aged paper wrapping around me like a shroud. The desk lamp cast a dim glow over the polished wood, illuminating the only thing that ever truly haunted this space .
I pulled open the top drawer, my fingers instinctively finding the worn envelope before I even looked down. Izabella’s letter. The edges had frayed from the number of times I had unfolded it, read it, let it sink its claws into me.
April 17th
11:42 PM
Cade,
I don’t think I can say this without the guilt choking me, but here it is. I don’t expect you to understand, and maybe that’s for the best. You were supposed to fix me. You were supposed to help me, and instead, you gave me the pills. You promised me that it would make everything better—that it would help me keep going. I trusted you, Cade. I believed you when you said I could heal, when you said the pain would end.
But it didn’t.
The pills didn’t work. They never worked. They didn’t take the hurt away. They only made it easier to pretend, easier to drown in something other than the nightmares, other than the weight of everything I’d been carrying for so long. You didn’t stop it, Cade. You didn’t fix me. You gave me the pills, but they didn’t keep me from falling apart. You, as a therapist, should have known better. You should have helped me and saw this before it got this far.
I know you’ve been trying. I know you’ve been working with me, doing everything you could to help me. But what kind of therapist can’t even see when someone’s drowning in front of them? You were supposed to help me see light, to guide me back to something resembling peace.
But there’s no escaping it anymore. The pain, the noise, the memories—they’re all too loud, too constant. Every time I close my eyes, the past comes flooding back, and the nightmares… they’ve become too much. I can’t breathe under them anymore. I can’t escape the things that haunt me.
I don’t blame you for everything, but I can’t ignore the part you played in this. You gave me the pills. You watched me slip, and you didn’t do enough to stop it. As a therapist, you were supposed to save me. You didn’t save me, Cade .
I thought I could push through it, that the pills would dull it enough, that the therapy would be enough. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could get better. But every time I tried, it felt like I was sinking deeper. And now… now I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay when I’m falling apart inside.
I know you think I’m doing this to punish you, but that’s not it. I’m doing this because I can’t keep living in this broken state. I can’t keep pretending I’m getting better when I’m not. You were supposed to be the one to help me stand, and instead, you handed me the tools to fall. I don’t know if you can ever forgive yourself for that.
I love you. God, I do. But I don’t know how much longer I can pretend. You deserve someone who can be whole. Someone who isn’t broken beyond repair. Someone who can love you without dragging you through the ashes of their own destruction. And I can’t be that person for you.
I’m so sorry. For all of it. I wish I could’ve been strong enough for you.
Please take care of yourself, Cade. Please live, even if I couldn’t. I’ll always love you.
Izabella
My jaw clenched as I exhaled sharply, gripping the letter so tightly my knuckles ached. She had been wrong. I could have saved her—if I had been faster, smarter, more persistent. If I had just seen the signs sooner. Back then, I leaned too heavily on prescriptions, thinking medication alone could fix what was broken. But I've learned since then.
I slid the letter back into its place and closed the drawer with a quiet finality. Aviana needed me. And this time, I wouldn’t fail.