"I think so." Jade straightened, the plan forming even as she spoke. "I'm not her therapist anymore, and my contract is with the department, not individual officers. If I talk to Diana directly, propose clear boundaries and oversight..."
"You remove the obstacle," Carla finished. "Take away the professional excuse."
"Right. Then Maddox has to face the actual question: Does she want this? Is she willing to fight? Can she choose me—choose us—when it's hard?"
"And if she can't?"
The question sat heavy between them.
"Then I walk away," Jade said quietly. "Not because I don't love her, but because I love myself too. I won't be someone's regret. I deserve better than that."
"Yes," Carla said firmly. "You do. So does she, for what it's worth. She deserves a chance to choose differently."
After they hung up, Jade opened her laptop and wrote an email to Chief Diana Marten, requesting a private meeting first thing Monday morning. Tomorrow, she'd handle the external complications and clear the path.
And then she'd show up at Maddox's door and offer her the choice.
On Monday, Jade arrived at the Phoenix Ridge Police Department at eight forty-five, fifteen minutes before her scheduled meeting with Chief Marten.
The building was electric with the energy of shift change as officers coming off night duty passed those arriving for the day shift, voices overlapped in the hallways, and the smell of coffee from the break room cut through the institutional scent of floor cleaner and musty building.
She’d been here dozens of times, including running therapy sessions with cops out of the converted conference room, but walking through these halls now felt different, weighted withpurpose and the knowledge that the next thirty minutes would determine whether or not she had any chance of salvaging what Maddox had tried to destroy Friday night.
Diana’s assistant, Megan, looked up from her desk outside the Chief’s office. “Ms. Kessler. Chief Marten is expecting you. Go ahead.”
Jade knocked twice, heard Diana's measured "come in," and stepped inside.
Chief Diana Marten’s office reflected the woman herself: organized, professional, and efficient without being cold. The commendations lining one wall were perfectly aligned and had zero dust on them, and Jade spotted the photo of her wife, Lavender Larwood, on the corner of the desk, the only personal touch in the space. Diana had left the large windows open, offering a stellar view of the harbor’s gray water stretching toward the horizon.
Diana sat behind her desk, tall and composed, even while seated, her dark hair pulled back in its usual practical knot. Those sharp eyes tracked Jade’s entrance with the kind of assessment that analyzed everything.
“Jade, please sit.” Diana gestured to one of the chairs across from her desk, then picked up her coffee mug. “I appreciate you coming in so early. I assume this is about Officer Shaw?”
Straight to it, then. Jade had expected nothing less.
“Yes.” She settled into the chair, keeping her posture open and professional. “I wanted to discuss the situation before Maddox’s shift this morning. I have some thoughts on how we can resolve the professional complications.”
Diana set her mug down. “I’m listening.”
Jade had rehearsed this on the drive over and organized her thoughts into clear language that wouldn’t reveal how much her heart was riding on Diana’s response.
“First, I want to acknowledge that the situation requires oversight,” she began. “A relationship between a department contractor and an officer creates legitimate concerns about conflict of interest and professional objectivity. Those concerns are valid, and I’m not here to dismiss them.”
Diana’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her posture suggested approval of the approach.
“However,” Jade continued. “I believe the actual ethical risk is minimal. I haven’t been Officer Shaw’s therapist for months now. She was transferred to Carla Lockridge in early May when it became clear my objectivity was compromised. My current role with the department is providing crisis counseling to multiple officers, running the wellness committee, and conducting trainings. Shaw is only one officer among many I interact with professionally.”
“The optics still matter,” Diana said. “Even if there’s no actual conflict, the appearance of impropriety can undermine department integrity.”
“Agreed. That’s why I’m proposing a formal framework for oversight and transparency.”
Diana leaned back slightly, her fingers steepled. “Go on.”
Jade pulled the printed proposal from her bag. She'd drafted it last night after sending the email, needing something concrete to focus on while her mind wanted to spin.
"I'd like to formalize the relationship through proper disclosure and establish clear boundaries. Specifically, I’d like to file a relationship disclosure form, which I understand is standard for interdepartment relationships; have monthly check-ins with you to make sure professionalism is being maintained; establish a clear policy that I can’t provide couples counseling or therapy services to Officer Shaw; and give you authority to reassign my cases if professional objectivity is ever questioned.”
She slid the proposal across the desk. Diana picked it up, scanning the document with the focused attention Jade had learned to expect from her.
