“You ruined your own career,” Chief says firmly. “Let’s go.”
They escort him toward the entrance as he keeps shouting, the automatic doors swallowing his voice whole.
Silence follows.
A stunned, heavy silence.
I look around at the people still staring. Only when Chief turns to them do they start to move.
“You alright?” he asks me softly.
I nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
He watches me for a second longer than usual, measuring something in my face.
“No one,” he says, “has the right to make you feel unsafe at your workplace. No one has the right to demean you for being pregnant. I’m proud of you for speaking up.”
My throat tightens so fast I nearly swallow my tongue.
“Thank you, sir,” I manage.
He gestures toward the break room. “Take a few minutes. Drink some water.”
I nod and slip away, closing the door behind me.
The second I’m alone, my whole-body sags.
I can’t believe that just happened.
Patrick
“And you feel like you’ve overcome your addiction now?”
I nod, staring at Dr. Brett across the room.
If you told me two weeks ago that I’d be sitting on a couch inOrange Cove Counseling, talking to some stranger about my life, I would’ve laughed. But after Genesis, who used to love me like a brother, called me “gum on the bottom of her shoe for breaking her sister’s heart,” I didn’t have the guts to cancel the marriage counselling appointment.
Somehow, I wound up here talking to a different therapist.
It’s weird. I never imagined I’d spill anything real to a stranger. But… it’s been good. Uncomfortable as hell, but good.
Dr. Brett takes off his glasses and folds them neatly into the notebook on his lap. His tone shifts, gentle but firm.
“Patrick, this is only your second appointment. You’ve been sober for one week. You haven’t attended a single AA meeting. And yet you feel… healed?”
I look away, jaw tight. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like I haven’t put in the work, but I have. Okay? I’m giving Lorespace. I haven’t barged in like I wanted to. And I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in a week. That’s progress.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Didn’t you invite her to join today’s session?”
A laugh slips out. “Yeah. I wanted to show her I’m doing better. But with how this is going…” I shrug. “I’m glad she didn’t come.”
“Patrick,” Dr. Brett sighs softly. “Therapy isn’t a fix-all. Sitting in my office won’t magically heal you. You’ve yet to address any of your issues.”
“My issues?” I echo, defensive heat rising.
He puts his glasses back on and looks down at the notes in his lap.
“You’ve admitted to feeling insecure about your wife’s past. You’ve expressed indignation at being accused of something you believe you didn’t do. You’ve acknowledged guilt for your drinking.”
