I opted for us to sit on the leather loveseat that was on the far right side of my office, as opposed to sitting at my desk. I felt Sandra needed a less formal setting for what she needed to say.
“Um …” She blew out a breath, her eyes shifting around the room.
“Sandra, whatever you need to tell me, you can say it. I’m not here to judge you, only to help you and your daughter.”
Her brown eyes were filled with trepidation. “I, uh, I just wanted to …” She paused, sighing, fighting to find the right words. “It’s just, when I was asked about a Mr. Robinson? Monique is right, she doesn’t h-have a father, not in the traditional way.”
I nodded but remained silent.
Sandra looked toward the door. “Monique is a result of a rape. I-I was raped by my ex-boyfriend and two of his friends. I don’t know which one is actually her b-bio—” Sandra couldn’t finish the rest of her sentence but she didn’t need to. She was sniffling as she quickly grabbed the tissues I offered her, dabbing at her eyes.
My grip tightened around the pen I’d been holding, almost to the point I feared breaking it in half. All of the air had been stolen from my lungs as a mixture of emotion filled me. As much as I wanted to go into that dark hole of emotion, I had to remind myself that this conversation was about my patient.
Not about me.
I pushed back in my seat and cleared my throat.
“No one knows. Not even my family.”
“I see.” I reached out to pat her hand, comfortingly.
“That’s why I can’t answer questions about her hereditary history.”
“I understand, Sandra. You don’t have to explain any further if you don’t want to.”
She nodded. “I just wanted to tell you why. I’m not some irresponsible mother who’d have a baby with a guy I didn’t know. Not on purpose.”
“I would’ve never thought that of you. It’s evident how much Monique means to you. You’re an excellent mother. And I want to thank you for being comfortable enough to share this with me. The circumstances of Monique’s conception will never hinder the type of service I give to her or you, okay?”
Sandra nodded, relieved. She stood, as did I.
“Sandra, I understand your hesitation in talking about this.” I paused, inhaling deeply. “Trust me, I really do. I know all too well—” I stopped just before the truth tumbled out of my mouth. “What I mean is, I imagine it’s not easy experiencing what you’ve been through and raising a daughter with an illness as serious as Type I diabetes all alone. We at the office are here to help, but you might also want to seek out some form of counseling. We work with some great …” My voice trailed when I caught the alarmed look in Sandra’s eyes.
She shook her head vigorously. “No, I’m fine. I just wanted to tell you so you knew. That’s it. What happened was a long time ago. Almost ten years.”
“Okay, okay,” I soothed, deciding to back off. I understood the reluctance. In fact, part of me felt like a hypocrite even making the suggestion. “I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thank you.” She nodded and moved to the door.
When it opened, Monique peered up from her tablet, giving her mom a smile. I watched as Sandra took her daughter by the hand and led her out of the office. I both admired Sandra for her strength and hated that she had to be that strong.
Shutting my office door, I leaned my forehead against it and closed my eyes. Strength. That was what I’d lacked for so long. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt strong. No. That was a lie. Just that morning, practicing with Joshua. I’d began to feel just the tiniest bit of control over my own life that’d been stripped away over the previous two years.
Chapter Seven
Joshua
She’s different.That was the conclusion I’d come to after staring out of my nineteenth floor office window for that past ten minutes. Every moment I’d spent with Kay in the past week ran through my mind. From the moment I’d first spotted her at the fundraiser to that very morning, practicing with her in my basement. She was different.
Of course, we all change over the course of seven years, but this wasn’t a good change. She was less vibrant somehow. More closed off. The Kay I’d grown up with was always willing to be the life of the party. Her personality was a big as her hair. The very same hair she’d now kept straightened and tucked away in a neat bun.
It wasn’t her.
Kay had always loved her big, red, bouncy curls loose.Hell, I’d kicked a kid’s ass in the seventh grade for thinking he could make fun of Kayla’s hair. I’d always been protective of her and Chels that way. After that, no one dared to make fun of Kay for her hair or for her sickness, which had caused her to miss many days of school. Anyone who dared would have to deal with me. Most people didn’t want that. They still didn’t.
So as I sat in my office pondering the ways in which Kayla had noticeably changed in the past seven years, I also was reminded of how timid she’d been during our training that morning. She was hesitant with her punches, unsure of herself, which easily led me to taking her down. Again. That wasn’t the Kayla I’d grown up with.
My musings on the woman now living in my home were interrupted when a knock on my door sounded.
