The therapy office hasn’t changed.
Same muted walls. Same peppermint scent. Same damn couch that knows too much about my life. Dr. Manning looks up from her notes the second we walk in.
“Well,” she says dryly, folding her hands. “Look who finally responded to my weekly ‘are you alive?’ texts.”
I exhale faintly. “I’ve been… busy.”
“With grief?” she asks.
“With avoidance,” I correct.
The thing about therapy is that even when you think you’re hiding, you’re not. Your therapist sees through the lies so you might as well tell the truth. Even when it hurts.
She nods once, satisfied with the honesty. Her gaze makes its way to Zaria.
“And you must be the girlfriend.”
Zaria straightens slightly but doesn’t shrink. She sits taller when she realizes I claim her even in rooms where she’s not present.
“Yes. I’m Zaria.”
Dr. Manning smiles warmly. “I’ve heard about you.”
Zaria glances at me sideways. “Only good things, I hope.”
Dr. Manning’s smile is filled with warmth when she replies, “Of course.”
We sit with space between us on the couch. Not a lot but enough to be noticeable. Dr. Manning doesn’t waste time.
“I know you’re here because of grief,” she says. “But grief is rarely the root. It’s usually the catalyst. What is the grief causing?”
The question is more straightforward than I expected. I rub my palms together slowly.
“We’re distant,” I say finally.
“In what way?”
I glance at Zaria. She keeps her eyes forward.
“Emotionally,” I admit. “Physically.”
“And why do you think that is?”
Because we’re scared.
Because loving each other feels like betrayal.
Because she died.
I swallow.
“I feel guilty,” I say plainly. “For being more in love with Zaria now than I was when Lena was alive.”
Zaria’s head turns sharply toward me. Her eyes are filled with surprise.
Dr. Manning doesn’t flinch.
“Explain that,” she says calmly.
