Every cell in my body screams no. I don’t want that. I never want that to happen again. “No. I don’t. I just… I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Thank you for telling me that,” she says evenly. No pity. No shock. Just understanding. My shoulders drop. I was waiting for disgust, for a look that saysyou’re broken beyond repair, but it doesn’t come.
“That’s why I’m here,” I manage. “Because I don’t want that to happen again.”
“You had a moment where you felt like you weren’t in control of yourself, and it frightened you.”
“Yes.” My voice comes out hard. “It terrified me.”
“Has that happened before?” she asks.
I nod my head slowly, thinking of how often I’ve lost track of time over the last year. Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours. “Yes, but not like that. Sometimes I just zone out, and time passes without me even realizing. Or sometimes… sometimes when I look in the mirror, it happens.”
“Would you be open to sharing what made your mind so loud that particular morning?”
I hesitate, gripping the glass tighter. “It was something that happened the day before. Someone came to my bookshop.”
“Someone significant?”
“Yes.” I swallow. “My ex. His name’s Kyle.”
She nods, a silent invitation to continue.
“He was…” It’s a struggle to force the words out. “He was… abusive . Not at first, not always. But enough to make me think it was my fault when it happened.”
My voice thins. “He hurt me. Hit me. He’d do things to me that…” My eyes sting, and I sniffle before trying again. “That I didn’t want. And then one day h-he—” I gesture at my scar. “Split my face open. That’s when I left him.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Dr. Keane’s face doesn’t change. “That sounds terrifying.”
“It was,” I whisper miserably.
She waits, and the silence pulls more from me.
“He came into the shop,” I tell her. “He apologized. Said he was sober now. In therapy. Said it was never me, that it was all him.”
“That’s a lot to hear from someone who hurt you.”
“It should have helped,” I say, almost angrily. “But it didn’t. It made everything louder. Like I was back there. The shop didn’t feel safe anymore. It’s always been my safe space and suddenly…” My breath hitches. “I could feel him all over it.”
Dr. Keane studies me for a long, quiet moment, her expression calm but focused.
“That makes sense,” she says finally, her tone gentle but grounded. “When someone who’s hurt us shows up again, even just for a few minutes, our body can react as if the danger never ended. It’s not weakness, it’s your mind and body trying to protect you.”
Tears fall down my cheeks, and I bat them away. “I just don’t understand why he did all those things to me. I need to know why.”
Dr. Keane’s gaze softens. “Wanting to understand the ‘why’ is completely natural,” she says. “But people who choose to hurt others often don’t have a reason that will make sense or feel good to the person they hurt. Any explanation he could give you would still be abouthim—his problems, his choices—not about your worth.”
“He said he was weak and angry. That I was ‘too good’ for him, and he couldn’t stand it, so he tried to tear me down so he didn’t have to feel so small.” My throat tightens around the words. “He said it was never me. That I never did anything to deserve it.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “That sounds like him describing his shame,” she tells me. “And it matters that he said it wasn’t your fault. But even if his reason is about his own issues, it doesn’t make what he did hurt any less. It doesn’t undo the fear your body learned.”
Her voice stays calm. “Sometimes we hope that if we can understand the ‘why,’ the pain will finally make sense and stop hurting. But his ‘why’ will always be abouthim. What we canwork with here isyou—what his choices did to you, and how we help you feel safe again.”
Safe.
My mind goes straight to Noah, to the way he watched me that night; he was so worried about me. I couldn’t even look at him when I should have told him everything.
I stare at my hands. “I didn’t tell anyone he came by,” I admit. “Not even Noah. He’s my boyfriend. I live with him. I only told him when I got back from the lake.”
