Heather spent the morning in her office pretending she wasn't watching the barely moving clock
She had counselled four clients back-to-back, each of them spilling their fears into the warm, soft air other therapy room. The diffuser hummed lavender, sunlight spilled across her table, and she nodded through stories of abandonment, miscommunication, conflict cycles... all the while ignoring the tiny, sharp ache sitting just under her sternum
The ache had a name.
Bruce.
By the time her last client left, she finally let her forehead fall into her hands. Her internal monologue was mocking her.
Look at you, she thought. A phycologist who can decode everyone's silence but her own.
Because Bruce's silence was not just silence. It was absence. It was a question mark. It was four days of replaying every touch, every breath, every moment from that night.
She still felt the imprint of his hands along her waist, the way he held her like she might disappear if he wasn't gentle enough. it hadn't been meaningless. she knew meaningless. Marcus had given her plenty of that.
But Bruce.... Bruce had felt different. So was the experience.
She closed the office, steeped into the corridor, and walked out into the soft evening heat. The sun was low, painting the sky orange and gold. Normally she'd admire it. Today it felt like the day was burning down just to match her nerves.
As she drove home, her phone buzzed twice. Her heart leapt high enough to hurt, her palpitations loud.
Felisha: Any update on my brother?
Felisha:He's acting weird. Just tell me what's going on.
Heather didn't reply. Because how was she supposed to explain to her friend that she'd slept with her brother - and now he was quite
Felisha would explode
At home, Heather dropped her keys in the bowl, sat on the edge of couch, and stared at her silent phone again, the ache still hadn't gone
Why did this hurt? Why did she feel small? Why did she feel like she had done something wrong when she had been nothing but honest, open, soft?
She took a slow breath- a therapist's breath- and whispered to herself:
"There's a difference between being triggered and being unsafe"
But the truth frightened her.
Bruce's silence... it reminded her of Marcus
Not the cheating - the minimizing.
The way Marcus used to act like her emotions were too much, her needs were childish, her intuition dramatic. Marcus had always made her feel like she was asking for too much simply by wanting a connection
She wasn't going back
She refused.
Her phone lit up suddenly
Bruce:Can we talk later ?
Heather froze, the world narrowing to three simple words
Not an apology. Not an explanation. Not affection. Just... a request. A small, guarded, hesitant request.
She didn't know if she should exhale or brace herself.
Fingers trembling slightly, she typed:
Heather: Yes. I'm here
She waited - ten seconds, thirty, a minute- but his typing bubble didn't appear. He had dropped the message and left
Her chest tightened.
The old Heather, Marcus's Heather, would have spiraled. Would have reread everything, hunted for mistakes, begged for clarity, tried to fix things she didn't break.
But she walked to the mirror in the hallway and met her own eyes.
Heather (last name) Psychologist Woman who rebuilt herself from the ashes of betrayal. Woman building from unhealed wounds
This sounded pathetic, she silently chuckled lowering her head down but as she slowly lifted her head, she could feel the heavy tears forming in her eyes her mind felt foggy her body felt heavy, she hated this feeling she couldn't tell what exactly it was everything felt as if it was crushing down,
She looked again in her into the mirror, and a calm and reassuring voice paved its way through
You're not fragile. You're not desperate. You're not waiting for a man to decide your worth.
Still... she felt something heavy settle in her. Not weakness- grief Grief for the version of herself that had hoped this would be different.
The knock on her heart was gentler this time. The voice in her head continue
"You are not hard to love. Some people are just not ready."
She sat on the couch again, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the ceiling. The room hummed with stillness. She could hear the footsteps outside her apartment door, a child's laughter from the apartment across from hers, life was happening and her silence was loud. She drifted off into her thoughts
She slowly drowned in her thought's that felt like a sea, it slowly covered her whole being, a calm sound surrounded her and the once loud thoughts ceased to exist it was calming , she felt her tummy growl but didn't have the urge to get what to eat all she could do was lie on her cough and drift into her mind , but still something echoed
"Why did I let myself hope?"
Maybe cause of the way he held her that made her feel like she mattered or maybe because h listened, didn't rush, didn't play games and treated her like she wasn't complicated. oh! I should give him credit for that
Maybe because she wanted to believe that good men existed A small humorless laugh escaped her lips
Her phone buzzed, drawing her from her dream state - it was a call from Felisha.
Heather stared at her screen letting the call ring out, she wasn't ready-not yet. Instead, she stood up, walked to her bedroom, straight to the bathroom for a shower.
Then- almost an hour later - her phone vibrated again. it wasn't a text
Bruce is calling ....