“And now?”
“Now I think nothing would ever be enough.”
Mark gave a small nod. “That’s an important realization. Not becauseyouare not enough, but becausehisstandards were unattainable.”
I stared at the smear my thumb had made in the putty.
“I don’t know who I am without that,” I admitted. “Without trying to reach something I can’t reach.”
“That’s the work,” Mark said gently. “Not proving yourself worthy. Discovering that you already are.”
The words landed somewhere fragile inside me.
“I’m scared,” I said after a moment.
“Of testifying?”
“Yes, but… more of what happens after.” I swallowed. “If he’s convicted… if he goes away for the rest of his life… then that’s it. There’s no more waiting. No more hoping he’ll wake up and apologize. No more fantasy where he looks at me and finally sees his son.”
Mark didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“Finality can feel like loss,” he said. “Even when the person you’re losing hurt you.”
“And what if he isn’t convicted?” I asked quietly. “I guess I’mworried about that too.”
“Then you will still have told the truth,” Mark replied. “Your healing cannot hinge on the verdict. It has to hinge on you.”
That felt unfair.
“I don’t want him to define me anymore,” I whispered. “I just want to be… Elior. Just Elior.”
“You are,” Mark answered. “You’ve always been ‘just Elior’.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t feel that simple.”
“It isn’t simple,” he agreed. “You were conditioned for years to believe your value depended on his judgment. Undoing that takes time. But every time you choose your own voice—every time you testify, every time you question his version of events—you are reclaiming something.”
I let that sit with me.
“I think Jace is more afraid than I am,” I said softly, a faint smile tugging at my mouth despite everything. “He gets this look in his eyes when the case comes up. Like he wants to burn the courthouse down.”
Mark’s lips curved slightly. “Protectiveness can be comforting. But it’s important that he allows you autonomy.”
“He does,” I said quickly. “He’s… intense. But he listens. He doesn’t try to stop me. He just—” I hesitated. “He watches out for me.”
The session timer chimed softly from his desk.
I startled a little at the sound.
“Before we end,” Mark said, “I want you to consider something this week. Instead of asking whether your father loved you, try asking yourself a different question.”
I looked up.
“What would it mean to love yourself in a way he never could?”
The question followed me out of his office, all the way home.
What would it mean?
