The small splatter stain on the carpet in Dr. Carroll’s therapy room stands out against the beige fibres like a crime scene—too dark, too vivid, its colour reminiscent of dried blood. I catch myself staring at it longer than I should, wondering what the substance might be. Spilt wine? Food stain? Nail polish? Actual blood? I can’t remember whether it was there the last time I was here.
“Kaden?”
My gaze flicks to Dr. Carroll, seated in her usual chair with her legs crossed and a notepad resting in her lap.
Today she’s dressed in grey suit pants, a black turtleneck thermal top, and leather two-inch heels, an understated and professional look that suits her perfectly. Her expression is soft, patient. Waiting.How long have I been zoned out for?
“Sorry, what was your question again?”
“You mentioned that you told the wife of your ex-girlfriend’s affair partner about her husband’s infidelity. What motivated you to do that?” she asks.
A slow, heavy breath leaves me. “Because I was angry. Angry that Adrian had hurt so many people and walked away without facing any consequences. Angry that he got my ex-girlfriend pregnant and then ran like a coward the moment he found out about the baby. And most of all, I’m angry that he kept lying and betraying his family long after the affair ended.”
“And that’s something you couldn’t accept?”
“Of course not! He didn’t just ruin my relationship and any hope I had for a family—he turned his own into a complete mockery.His wife deserved the truth. And he was certainly not going to give it to her.”
Dr. Carroll nods slightly. “So that’s when you decided to tell her instead?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “And I don’t regret it, because now she knows everything. I do feel guilty for not reaching out afterwards to see if she was okay, but I got the impression she didn’t want to hear from me anymore. I mean I did just walk into her life and set fire to everything.”
“Do you feel responsible in some way for what happens next in their lives?”
“I do,” I reply wearily, running a hand through my hair. “I meddled in something I probably shouldn’t have, and now it can’t be undone. Even if I had brought the truth to Hope, I might have torn her family apart. And I guess I feel responsible for that. But I don’t regret telling her. She would’ve gone on building her life on a lie, one Adrian benefited from. I’ve livedas both the betrayer and the betrayed, and I know just how devastating and painful that can be for anyone.”
Silence hangs in the air as Dr. Carroll quickly scribbles something down.
“Part of me wanted her husband to pay for what he’d done,” I continue, the confession sitting heavy in my chest. “I wanted him to lose everything he valued, the way everyone else lost something because of him. So in a way, I was acting for my own benefit as well as hers, when it should’ve been solely about helping her.”
She nods empathetically. “It’s possible to act without a single, pure motivation. You can want justice for someone else and still have personal needs mixed up with it. That doesn’t automatically make it wrong. Both motivations can coexist, and acknowledging them doesn’t invalidate either. What matters is that you’re taking responsibility for the impact it might’ve caused.”
“Yeah.” I nod, reluctantly.
“It’s important to remember,” she says calmly, “that by bringing the truth to Adrian’s wife, you didn’t end their marriage or destroy their family. You interrupted, and possibly prevented a deception that might have continued on for years. What happens next belongs to them entirely.”
I sink back into the couch, staring at the ceiling fan. The blades aren’t moving, but the room still feels cold and stale.
“I still feel awful for what she’s going through,” I admit, sadly.
“Of course you do,” Dr. Carroll says. “You’re not numb anymore.”
For the first time, I have nothing to say to that.
“We have about five minutes left in our session. I just wanted to check—how’s the letter coming along?”
“It’s… coming,” I murmur, staring at my hands, my voice tight. “I just need to put pen to paper first.”
“What do you think is holding you back from starting the letter?”
“Not knowing where to begin. I feel like no matter what I write, it won’t make up for what I’ve done. And I’m afraid it will hit me all at once—the guilt, anger, regret, grief… which is only going to make me feel worse.”
“I can see how it can be overwhelming for you. But it’s okay for those emotions to be there. They’re part of the healing process. You don’t have to get it ‘right’ on the first try. It’s not for anyone else to judge,” she says encouragingly. “The letter is not intended to change the past or fix everything that occurred. It’s about processing your feelings, taking responsibility for the choices you made, and being honest with yourself, even if it’s uncomfortable.
“I get that. I really do. But every time I sit down to write, it never comes out the way I want. I just want it to be perfect.”
“The words don’t have to be perfect, Kaden. They just have to be honest. So it’s completely fine if it’s a little messy and chaotic. You can start in small pieces and revise later, as many times as you need to. You’ll find that each time youwrite, the ache eases a little, and you feel lighter. The key is giving yourself permission to begin.”
I exhale slowly, the air feeling thick and heavy in my lungs. “I still don’t feel ready… but maybe I could start with just a few sentences, and see where it goes from there, right?”
