Someone makes a note; another shifts in their seat.No one interrupts.I take a breath and continue.
“I know that, for most of you, ‘real human connection’ won’t justify what I did—and it shouldn’t.Nothing can make my actions ethical.Nothing can absolve me.But I hope it shows why I chose to come forward.Because I crossed a boundary I believed I never would, and I need to be able to live with that truth in the open.
“I’ve spent my career honoring the integrity of the therapeutic space.I’m aware of what I have compromised.This isn’t just about one client or one moment.It’s about the responsibility we carry as psychologists, especially when someone trusts us with their vulnerability.”
I glance down at my hands, then lift my head again.No one says a word.I keep my spine straight.This is mine to carry.
“That’s why I’m not here to ask for leniency or permission to continue.I am asking for the opportunity to step away with dignity.I want to ask you for the opportunity to wind down my practice responsibly and with transparency.
“Because while I can’t undo what happened, I can choose how I leave this work behind.I owe that much to my clients.Thank you for listening.”
The room goes so silent I can hear the tick of the wall clock.No one meets my eye.Pens hover above paper, chairs creak as bodies shift but no words come.
I wait in agonizing silence until, finally, a voice cuts through.
“Why should we trust you to wind down responsibly if you’ve already crossed such a huge line?”
It’s a fair enough question, but one that I’ve anticipated.
“What happened with Ms.Hall was a one-off.In three decades of practice, I have never blurred any lines, and I will never do so again.My feelings for her are unique.This wasn’t a pattern.It was one mistake, and I’m here to take responsibility for it, so I can bring closure to my work with integrity.”
“Do you believe your personal feelings outweigh your professional duties?”the same person as before asks.
I didn’t prepare for this question, but I still have to answer.“No.While my duties have guided every choice I’ve made for thirty years, this is the one time that I failed.It’s why I’m here, ready to lay down those duties.I understand the consequences of what I allowed to happen.”
The chairperson folds her hands on the table.“Thank you, Dr.Forbes, for your statement and for your candor.”Her voice gives nothing away.“The board will deliberate.You’ll be informed of our decision in writing.”
I nod, gather what composure I can, and leave, the rush of blood in my ears so loud it’s all I hear.
I walk to my car, trying not to think about the end of my career.Before I drive off, I take a deep breath, then switch my phone back on.There’s a message from Avery.It’s a picture of her lying belly-down on her bed, chin propped on her hand, her feet kicked up behind her, the curve of her ass just visible where a blanket slips off.Her lips are puckered in an exaggerated pout as she blows a kiss straight into the camera.The text underneath reads:
To terrible decisions that feel really good
Followed by a dozen heart emojis.
I stare at the picture until the edges blur, until the lump in my throat makes it impossible to swallow.I should feel gutted by what just happened in that dreadful room.Maybe I do, somewhere underneath the adrenaline still pumping through me.But right now, all I feel is the pull of Avery’s smile and the sweetness of her kiss in that selfie.
I’ve spent most of my life telling people that connection can save them, that love should be worth the risk of being hurt.It’s ironic, maybe even hypocritical, that I couldn’t take my own advice until her.Avery is proof that sometimes we simply stumble into the very thing we spend years keeping at bay.
While I regret breaking the code of conduct of my profession, I can’t, not even for a second, regret her.Avery’s the reason I can face what comes next with my head held high.She’s the reason I walked into that boardroom today instead of hiding.
If my career ends here, so be it.What I have with her is worth far more than the word ‘licensed’ on my resume.
I start my car and drive to Silver Lake.To Avery’s house.
Chapter31
Avery
I don’t just have press forDeadline for Lovethis week, I also have my next session with Jan.While I can ignore a journalist’s question, or just reply with a well-rehearsed quip, I can do no such thing with my therapist.Nic has told me about their very brief phone conversation after the news of our affair broke.
Nevertheless, Jan sits with unruffled elegance, her shoulder-length hair brushed smooth, silver glinting through the blond.Her expression is calm, but there must be something brewing underneath.I know from Nic that she feels betrayed.I also lied to her last week.Not an excellent beginning to any new relationship, let alone with your new therapist.
“How are you?”she asks.It’s probably the standard question every therapy session anywhere in the world starts with.
“It’s been quite a week,” I say.“I’m sorry, Jan.I couldn’t tell you last week.Nic asked?—”
She holds up her hand.“I’ll deal with Nic.You don’t have to apologize on her behalf.”
