“What made you choose not to tell him?”
I put the glass down and wrap my arms around myself. “Because it felt dirty. Like bringing Kyle into our home. Into what we have.” My voice drops. “Noah doesn’t deserve that.”
“It sounds like you were trying to protect him,” she says softly. “And maybe protect what feels good and safe in your life.”
I nod, eyes fixed on my lap. I did want to protect what we had, but then I nearly lost it anyway.
“But you’re also carrying that weight alone,” she adds. “The part of you that’s trying to shield Noah is the same part still holding all the fear by yourself.”
I squeeze myself tighter.
“What did you think might happen if you told him?” she asks. “Not what you fear—but what you believe he might’ve actually done.”
I breathe out slowly. “He’d have… worried. Probably would have held me.” A humorless laugh leaves me. “He did hold me.” I shake my head at myself. “He’d have told me I’m safe. But I didn’t want him to look at me differently.”
“Differently how?”
“Like I’m fragile. Like I’d break if he touches me wrong. I thought he’d pity me… be disgusted by me.”
“Has he ever treated you that way before?”
I think about Noah, his steady hands and reassuring words. Noah, who only ever makes me feel good, who never looks at me like I’m damaged. His gentle touches always give, he never takes what I haven’t offered.
“No,” I whisper. “Never. He treats me like I’m… special, I guess. But not fragile. He looks at me” —my chin wobbles, and I bite my lip to keep the sound I want to make at bay—“with love.”
“Then maybe this isn’t about how he sees you, Gabe. Maybe it’s about howyousee yourself.”
I deflate, I know Noah doesn’t see me the way I see me. He looks at me like I’m important. Like I’m worth something. And… I want to see myself that way too.
The silence stretches. “Can we take a breath together for a moment?” she says quietly.
I nod, grateful for the offer, and we breathe until the room doesn’t feel like it’s closing in on me.
“And what happened the next morning?”
“I woke before dawn. I hadn’t really slept.”
The image resurfaces—Noah, asleep, soft and golden. “Noah looked so peaceful. I stood there thinking I’d ruin him if I stayed. That I’d stain everything good in him. So I left. I went running to clear my head. It usually helps, but then—” My throat closes.
“Then you were at the lake,” she says gently.
I nod, jaw tight. “I just wanted it quiet,” I say again, trembling fingers touching my temple. “My head wouldn’t stop. And then I was in the water. I nearly…” My voice wobbles as I shake my head. “When I came home… the look on Noah’s face—” My chest stutters. “He looked terrified. For me. And I hate that I put that there.”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until stars bloom. “I don’t just want to be better for him,” I say, voice thick. “I want to be better for my brother. My niece. For my friends.” I sit up a little straighter. “But mostly, I want to be better for myself.I don’t want to be like this anymore. I’m sick of the constant struggle. I want my life to bemine.”
The quiet that follows isn’t crushing. I feel like saying those words has lifted a heaviness from me.
“That’s an important thing to say out loud,” Dr. Keane says.
When I look down, I see my hands have stopped shaking so badly.
“We can work on this together,” she adds. “It takes time, and it will be hard work. But you can get to a place where your past isn’t calling the shots all the time. Where your choices feel like they belong to you again.”
She holds my gaze as her voice softens. “There’s a lot more power in you than you think, Gabe.”
For an extended time, I can’t speak. Then I manage a low, “Okay.”
She glances at the clock. “We’re nearly at the end of the hour. How are you feeling right now?”
