“Of course I didn’t,” he assured her. “Taking her in for a month while Morgan was in rehabilitation and intense counseling was Tessa’s idea.”
Lynda nodded. “It’s something we need to address and prepare for when Olive wants to know.”
Tessa’s heart did a small twist in her chest. What would Olive ask…someday?
For a fleeting second, she let herself imagine a grown-up version of Olive who would want to know how she came to be theirs. All Tessa could think was…I can’t wait for her to be my best friend.
“In our world, we call it a dual relationship. Therapist becomes friend and friend becomes family,” Lynda explained. “It’s not unethical or illegal at all, but there are reasons we get cautious about it. The therapy room is supposed to be the one place a person can fall apart safely, and that only works if the person across the room has no other stake in their life.”
Tessa glanced at Dusty, listening intently.
“Clearly, you will always know private and personal things about Morgan’s struggles.”
He nodded. “They will stay private and personal,” he promised. “Even Tessa has no idea why she’s made this decision or why she’s in rehabilitation.”
“I don’t,” Tessa confirmed, dipping into thoughts she sometimes had. “I won’t ask because I know Dusty would never break the therapist/patient confidentiality. Whatever is going on with Morgan, it’s not for me to know. Of course, I do know her tragedy—the loss of her husband and parents when Olive was a newborn—but I don’t know how that’s impacted Morgan or why she’s made the decision to give Olive up for adoption.”
Lynda’s eyes shuttered at the mention of the tragedy that no young girl should ever have to endure.
Tessa felt her whole body soften as she continued. “All I knew was that she needed to go to an in-patient facility, and needed someone to watch Olive while she did. Dusty’s right—I suggested a short-term solution. And…the rest kind of just happened.”
“The rest?” Lynda asked.
Tessa smiled. “Olive stole our hearts,” she admitted. “But we more than willingly gave her back when Morgan left the treatment center. Then…”
“Then she tried, and failed, to keep Olive,” Lynda finished, confirming that she likely knew a lot more than Tessa realized about all of this. “I’ve personally met with Morgan a number of times. She’s been clear and consistent through two stints in residential care, and she’s held to her decision longer than most birth mothers in similar circumstances. That matters. That matters a great deal.”
Tessa let out a breath. “I was a birth mother,” she whispered, the words coming out before she even took the smallest second to edit herself.
Lynda looked at her, a brow rising. “You were?”
Tessa swallowed and nodded. “When I was twenty-five, the result of a, uh, brief relationship with a man whose last name I never knew.” Brief, she thought, as in one night. She couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud.
Lynda stared at her, no judgment in her eyes, just interest. Was telling her the biggest mistake Tessa had ever made? There was no law compelling her to reveal this, but she needed to let Lynda know she understood the magnitude and agony of the decision.
“I sought help from my father, who came down to Florida and helped arrange a closed adoption for my son.”
“Did you have contact with your child?” Lynda asked.
Tessa felt a smile pull. “I did not, but someone I confided in decided to take matters into her own hands.”
Lynda’s brown eyes widened. “In a closed adoption?”
“Yes, but it’s fine. Roman is…” She gave a soft laugh and glanced at Dusty. “My biological son walked me down the aisle yesterday and is now engaged to that very young lady I’d taken into my confidence. He’s family and we’re good.”
“Oh.” Lynda leaned back, taking a sip of coffee as though she had to digest this new information. “How lovely for you,” she said. “It could have ended…badly.”
Tessa nodded in agreement. “I respect that there are times in a woman’s life, and circumstances as tragic as Morgan’s would certainly qualify, that raising a child safely is impossible.”
“Thank you for sharing, Tessa,” the other woman said. “And Dusty?” She turned to him. “Can you answer a question for me?”
“Of course.”
“When did you stop being her therapist? Not on paper but in your mind. Was there a moment, even a small one, where the line got blurry between caring for her as a clinician and caring for her child as a future parent?”
Dusty held very still.
“I’m not looking for a perfect answer,” Lynda said. “I’m looking for an honest one.”
