My throat burns. “Feels like I’d be signing up to get my heart ripped out on repeat.”
“You already signed up,” he says. “You’re here. You love him now. The question isn’t ‘should I love him if this might hurt.’ The question is, “How do I love him in a way that doesn’t erase me?”
I lean my head back, staring at the water stain in the corner of the ceiling. “And if I can’t do that?” I ask. “If I don’t know how to not erase myself?”
“Then we learn,” he says. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why we build you your own scaffolding. So when you are terrified, which you will be because that’s part of the job, you’re not alone.”
Silence stretches for a second. The ticking clock feels too loud.
“How do you do this?” I ask suddenly. “How do you sit in this chair all day listening to people describe the worst moments of their lives and not take it home like a backpack full of bricks?”
He smiles, small and tired. “Who says I don’t?” he says. “I just have my own net. Colleagues. My wife. Friends who aren’t therapists. Hobbies that have nothing to do with anyone’s trauma. A supervisor who reminds me I’m not God when I start acting like I am.”
“Feels like a theme,” I mutter.
“It is,” he says. “Miguel, if you try to be the only thing between Caleb and the void, you will eventually fall into it with him. That doesn’t help him, and it kills you. That’s the martyr route. We’re aiming for the partner route.”
“Partner route,” I repeat, rolling the words around like I’m checking the gauge on a wire. “What’s the difference, in plain terms?”
“Martyr Miguel says,” he holds up one hand, “‘If I don’t save him, no one will, so I must give everything until there’s nothing left.’ Partner Miguel says,” he holds up the other, “‘I will show up, love him fiercely, and also respect my limits. When I reach those limits, I will ask for help instead of overriding them.’”
I snort. “Partner Miguel sounds like a guy who drinks water and uses sunscreen.”
“He does,” Luis says. “He also lives longer.”
I stare at the legal pad again. At the tiny map we’ve drawn together—lines and arrows and names.
“Okay,” I say finally. “So in a crisis, Miguel calls 911, loops in the net, and takes a goddamn shower. What about non-crisis Miguel? The one who has to go back to work and has to pay bills and pretend to care about breaker boxes while his boyfriend is on a psych unit?”
Luis nods. “Good question. What are you thinking for work?”
I hesitate. “I was… gonna ask my boss if I can cut my hours for a bit,” I admit. “Or switch to lighter jobs. Fewer roof crawls, more shop time. But I feel like an asshole. Like I’m asking for special treatment because my home life is a soap opera.”
“Or,” he says, “you’re a human having a crisis and you’re asking for accommodation so you don’t fry your nervous system and fall off a ladder.”
I give him a look. “You ever get tired of reframing?”
“Yes,” he says. “But I do it anyway. You need to talk to your boss. You also should talk to your mom and Caleb, when he’s clearer about what you can and can’t realistically do. Not promises you can’t keep, honest limits.”
I rub my palms over my jeans. “What if my limit isn’t big enough for what he needs?” I ask.
“Then the solution is not to stretch your limit until you snap,” he says. “It’s adding more people. More services. That’s whatinpatient and IOP and crisis teams are for. Not replacing you, but joining you.”
I hate that that makes sense.
I also hate that it’s a relief.
“I feel like such a coward,” I say. “Wanting a break when he’s the one in the hospital bed.”
Luis shakes his head. “You called me from the ER and said, ‘I’d bleed for him.’ Do you remember what I told you?”
“Yeah,” I say bitterly. “You said, ‘You already are.’”
“And you are,” he says. “You did. You’ll keep bleeding metaphorically. But you do not have to slit your own wrists emotionally to match his. You’re allowed to bandage yours while the doctors bandage his.”
That hits me in a place I don’t have words for.
The session winds down with logistics—appointments, check-ins, and when he can coordinate with Dr. K. When I leave, I’m not lighter, exactly. But the weight is… distributed differently. Less like a single boulder, more like three smaller ones I can maybe rearrange instead of letting them roll over me.
