Mark spoke gently. “And when he jumped?”
I folded in on myself. “That was my fault,” I said hoarsely. “Not because I wanted him hurt—but because I repeated the same abandonment that shaped me.”
I wiped my face, shaking.
“I didn’t know how to stay without destroying him,” I whispered. “So I destroyed him by leaving.”
Silence filled the room as I struggled to regulate my breathing.
Minutes passed before Mark said, “Anthony… recognizing the pattern doesn’t make you evil. It makes you responsible.”
I nodded, tears dripping from my chin. “I don’t want to love like a wound anymore,” I said. “I want to learn how to stay without consuming.”
“And Elliot?” Mark asked.
“I love him,” I said. “But I won’t go back until I can love him without fear that I’ll make the same mistakes again.”
Mark let the silence stretch after my confession. He always did that—gave my words room to settle, to stop echoing.
“You started volunteering,” he said eventually. “How’s that been?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Hard. Humbling.” A weak huff of a laugh escaped me. “Terrifying, sometimes.”
“What’s terrifying about it?”
“That I can’t fix them,” I said immediately. “That I don’t get to swoop in and make it better.”
Mark nodded. “And how does that feel?”
“Like withdrawal,” I admitted. “Like my hands are tied and my chest is on fire.” I swallowed. “Like I finally understand how addicted I was to being needed.”
I stared at the carpet. “People call in pieces,” I continued. “Broken sentences. Breaths instead of words. And all I’m allowed to do is stay. I can’t promise them it’ll be okay. I can’t tell them what to do. I can’t make myself the reason they survive the night.”
My throat tightened. “I just… listen.”
“And?”
“And sometimes,” I said softly, “that’s enough.”
The words surprised me as they left my mouth.
“I’ve sat with people who were standing right on the edge,” I went on. “People who wanted the pain to stop more than they wanted to live. And the only thing that helped was knowing someone wasn’t afraid of the dark with them.”
My chest ached. “I think that’s what Elliot needed,” I said. “Not rescuing. Not distance. Just someone who could sit beside him without disappearing.”
Mark leaned forward. “What have you learned about yourself through this?”
I didn’t answer right away. I let the question sit with me until it felt like I found the right words.
“That I talk too much when I’m scared,” I said finally. “That I mistake action for love. That I leave when I don’t trust myself to stay.” I exhaled slowly. “But on the line,” I continued, “I’ve learned to ask instead of assume. To let silence breathe. To trust that someone else’s strength doesn’t threaten mine.”
My hands curled together. “I don’t sayyou’ll be okayanymore. Instead, I sayI’m here. And I mean it.”
Mark’s voice was gentle. “How is that different from before?”
“Before,” I rasped, “Ineeded to be okay. I needed to believe I was doing the right thing, even if it hurt them. Now—” I shook my head. “Now I’m learning that love isn’t about easing my fear. It’s about holding space for theirs.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
