“I know you feel like what happened broke you, but it didn’t. It exposed the truth, and everything you have felt since is natural and justifiable. Only with the truth can you truly heal.”
“Except I still don’t know the full truth, so how do I put this behind me and move forward when there are so many questions I don’t have the answers to?”
“Can you accept you will never have all the answers and work off the truth you do know?”
I fidget with a loose thread on the hem of my dress. “I don’t know.”
“If this is holding you back, then maybe you need to reconsider talking with Callan.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to see either of them. That will only set me back.” I rub at the tightness stretching across my chest. My lungs contract, and my words come out in a rasping tone. “Even thinking about it causes me anxiety.”
“Take deep breaths, Astrid.” Agnetha clasps my hands. “In and out. Nice and slow.”
When I’ve gotten my breathing back under control, I resume the conversation. “It feels like I’ll never be able to move past this pain.” Tears gather in my eyes. “How is it possible to still love him so much when I hate him equally? Why can’t I let him go when he’s clearly let me go? Why do I still long for a man who didn’t want me? Why wasn’t I enough?” All questions I have asked myself repeatedly until it feels like I’m going insane.
She hands me a tissue, and I dab at my eyes.
“It doesn’t mean you weren’t enough. You were with someone capable of betraying you, and that is on him. The version of Callan you are clinging to is the one who existed for you. The man you were planning to build a life with, that man is gone, and so is that future.”
“I know that. Logically, I do, but my heart didn’t get the memo.” I half laugh, half cry. It feels like I’m eternally trapped in a never-ending cycle of what-ifs and how-comes.
“You will get through this.” She squeezes my hand. “You will survive even though right now it feels like you won’t.”
“It feels like he died. I’m grieving him and the life we were going to have. But he’s not dead. He’s out there living his life, and I’m stuck in this hell, left to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart.”
“Betrayalisa death. It’s the ending of a relationship you believed in and cherished. The termination of the future life you had planned. The death of a man you thought you knew and were going to grow old with. Like with actual death, it takes time to process all the emotions you are feeling. Let yourself feel them because it’s the only way to truly heal. Be kind to yourself. Trust in your ability to forge a new path in life. To find a new future to aspire to.”
I smooth my hand back and forth across the squishy pillow in my lap. “It feels like it was the death of me. The person I was before, who blindly trusted without question. The me who believed in a happily-ever-after. The woman who didn’t doubt her worth like I do now. It’s not just betrayal. It’s abandonment in the physical and literal sense. It’s being handed the wreckage of my future and being told to move on as if I could just snap my fingers and it’ll happen overnight.”
“No one said it would, and everyone grieves in their own way. You need to grieve the man you thought you had, the life you thought you were planning, and the forever you believed in. Grieve them. Take whatever truths and learning you need to take from this experience, and then forge a different version of you and build a brighter future. You are a strong, resourceful, talented young woman with your entire life ahead of you. You will get past this, Astrid. I promise. You will find the person who values and cherishes you above all else. He is out there waiting for you when you are ready. But no one knows when, and you shouldn’t rush the process. Continue therapy when you return to the US. I will email you a few names.”
“What does it say about me that I feel sick just thinking about finding someone else? I get physical pains in my stomach. I can’t imagine kissing, touching, making love to anyone who isn’t him.” A bitter laugh tumbles from my chest. “Meanwhile, he’s over there with her, having no such concerns.”
“It means you’re not ready, and the physical act of sex is very different from true love. What Callan is or isn’t doing is of no concern to your recovery. Focus on you and what you need to do to heal, and push forward. It won’t be easy, and only you can do the hard work, but it will be worth it, and someday, you will look back on this experience and possibly see it a little differently.”
I throw myself into my studies when I return to Bennington Turo, trying to ignore the ghosts around every corner. I don’t go out. I pick at my food like a bird. I withdraw into myself, refusing to talk abouthimorherwith anyone except my new therapist.
I’m living with Paige and Tonya in a two-bedroom apartment in the town, and they deserve an award for putting up with my mood swings. Sometimes, being around them is hard. Every loving kiss feels like a stab to the heart. The heated looks and secret smiles send me hurtling into the past. Sounds emanating from their room some nights only drive the knife in deeper.
Renee and Thor have lunch with me daily, and they carry the conversation while I sit there lost in my thoughts, wondering when this is going to get better.
I don’t want to go home at Christmas, panicking they’ll be there, but Dad reassures me Callan will most likely have a game, and the restraining order means she can’t come near me. I applied for a permanent order when I returned to Vermont, and it’s in place for five years. Gwen hasn’t attempted to contact me,so she seems to have gotten the message. Renee let it slip that the media picked up on it, and it was the subject of much drama and debate online. I wouldn’t know because I don’t go online anymore.
“Have you seen my laptop?” I ask my parents when I enter the kitchen on Christmas Eve morning.
“No.” Mom moves toward the coffee machine. “Where did you last see it?”
“I could’ve sworn it was in my bedroom yesterday, but I’ve ransacked the place, and I can’t find it.”
“It’ll turn up,” Dad says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of your sisters took it. Have you asked them?”
“No. I’ll ask them later. If that’s for me, Mom, can you make it to go? I’m meeting Renee and Nikki, and I’m running late.”
“Sure.” Mom smiles, and I know she’s relieved I’m going out, and I’ve been acting more like myself since I came home for the holidays. I gave myself a stern pep talk on the drive home. Promising myself I’d make an effort to be upbeat for my parents. It’s not easy because I feel like I’m walking on eggshells since I pulled into the drive in my Honda.
The first thing I did when I returned in August was sell the car Callan bought me, buying a cheaper brand-new SUV and giving my parents most of the money I made from the deal. Every time I come and go from the house, I’m on edge, glancing nervously across the road, praying I don’t see them. So far, so good, and I’m beginning to think they won’t be here for Christmas. Perhaps because of the… Nope, nope. I’m not going there.
I take the travel cup from Mom, kissing her on the cheek and quickly hugging my dad before I grab my coat and cell and race out of the house, purposely not looking across the street.
