Nora nodded. “How did that feel, being loved conditionally?”
“Like I had to earn oxygen,” I said before I could stop myself. My throat tightened. “He could be kind. Attentive. Proud, even.But it was never… for me. It was because she wanted it. Because loving me made her happy.”
“And when she died?” Nora asked softly.
Something twisted low in my stomach. “He stopped pretending,” I said. “And suddenly everything about me made him angry. I remind him of her. Of what he lost. He told me he feels sick when he looks at me.” My fingers curled into my palms. “Said he wished it had been me instead.”
Nora’s voice stayed even, but her eyes sharpened with focus. “That’s a profound trauma, Elliot. Especially coming from a parent.”
I nodded. “It’s like… all that time, I thought I was failing at being enough. But really, the rules just changed and no one told me.”
She let that land before asking, “How is that different with Anthony?”
The question hit somewhere tender. “With Anthony,” I said slowly, “care doesn’t feel like a test. He notices before I ask. He stays—mostly. He doesn’t disappear when I fall apart. Well, not anymore,” I hesitated, then forced myself to keep going. “And he doesn’t want anything from me except honesty.”
Nora tilted her head slightly. “You’ve used the word ‘caretaker’ before.”
“Yes.” My pulse picked up, but I stayed with it. “I’ve looked into it. The dynamic. The daddy/boy thing.” My cheeks burned, but I didn’t look away. “Not as a replacement for my father. I know the difference. It’s not about him being my dad. It’s about choosing to let someone hold responsibility with consent. It’s about structure. Safety. Letting go.”
“And what does submission give you?” she asked, carefully neutral.
Relief flooded me at the lack of judgment. “Rest,” I said immediately. “It’s like… I’ve spent my whole life hypervigilant.Managing everyone else’s emotions. With Anthony, I don’t have to be on guard. I can soften. I can be taken care of without it being thrown back at me later.”
Nora nodded slowly. “And how do you feel about wanting that?”
I thought about it. Really thought. “I don’t hate myself for it anymore,” I said. “I used to. But now it feels honest. Like a language my nervous system understands.”
She smiled—not approving, not disapproving. Just present. “That distinction matters.”
I exhaled shakily. “There’s something else.”
“Go ahead.”
“My mom’s lawyer called last week,” I said. “She left me… a lot. More than I expected. Everything, actually.”
Nora’s pen paused. “How did that feel?”
“Confusing,” I admitted. “Guilt. Gratitude. Fear. Like… proof that she really saw me. That I mattered to her in a way I never let myself believe.”
“And your father?”
I swallowed. “He called me the next day. He demanded the money. Said it was his. That she would have wanted him to have it.” My jaw clenched. “But she didn’t. She left it to me. All of it.”
Nora leaned forward slightly. “What did you feel in that moment?”
“Small,” I said. “Angry. Vindicated. Terrified.” I laughed weakly. “And weirdly… free. Like she made a choice even after she was gone. Like she was still protecting me.”
“That’s an important reframe,” Nora said gently. “Your mother exercised agency. And your father’s reaction doesn’t negate that.”
I nodded, eyes stinging. “Anthony told me it was okay to accept it. That I don’t have to punish myself to prove I’m good.”
“And how does it feel to hear that?” she asked.
“Like learning a new rule for living,” I said. “One that doesn’t involve suffering first.”
Nora smiled softly. “Elliot, you’re doing incredibly deep work. Differentiating care from control. Desire from damage. That takes courage.”
I breathed in. Out. Just like she’d taught me when my emotions got too much. “For the first time,” I said, “I don’t feel broken. Just… unfinished.”
