"It's been an adjustment," I say carefully. "For everyone."
"Of course." Dr. Reeves' smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Change is always challenging, especially in a marriage that's in its infancy. Just two years, correct?”
"Yes."
"Then you're still learning each other's rhythms, still figuring out how to navigate conflict and stress together." She says it like she's being understanding, but it feels like she's talking down to me. Like I'm a child who needs things explained slowly.
"You don't truly know your husband yet. Not really. So adding a traumatized teenager to that dynamic would be challenging for even the most confident person."
I agree with nothing she just said. There's something wrong with this woman. Guess that explains why Devon isn't getting any better.
"I’m told that you and Asher went out to celebrate your anniversary," Dr. Reeves continues, and there's something in her tone now. Something pointed. "Tell me what happened."
I glance at Asher. He's staring at the doctor, not looking at me at all. "We were unable to celebrate," I say.
"Because Asher had to leave your celebration early to care for Devon." Dr. Reeves leans forward slightly, her long fingers steepled in front of her. "She feels very guilty about that. Don't you, Devon?"
Devon nods, her eyes downcast. "I didn't mean to ruin their night. I just… I was having a really hard time, and I didn't know what else to do."
"Of course you didn't," Dr. Reeves says warmly, reaching over to pat Devon's knee. The gesture is intimate, familiar.
“Youwere in crisis.Youneeded support. That's completely understandable. No reasonable adult could judge you for it. Panic attacks don’t schedule a time or date"
Then she turns to me, and her expression cools. "Julie, I'm curious. How did you feel when Asher left you behind?"
Left me behind. The wording is intentional. I know it is. But if I call it out, I’ll be labeled crazy. So I take a breath and answer the question. "Disappointed," I say.
"Just disappointed?" Dr. Reeves tilts her head. "Devon mentioned that you seemed quite upset. Angry, even."
Angry. There it is. The word that makes me sound unreasonable. "That's interesting since I didn’t see Devon that night because I didn’t go home. I’m not sure why she thought I was angry. I was upset," I admit. "But I understood that Devon needed him."
"The fact that you didn't go home suggests otherwise though." Dr. Reeves' tone is gentle, but there's a challenge underneath it. "Because Devon has expressed concern that you seem to be harboring some resentment toward her. She feels like you see her as an intrusion in your marriage."
I look to Devon. She's looking down at her hand, clutched inside of my husband’s. "I don't resent her," I say. The words ring hollow to my own ears because they are hollow. I'm not even lying. I don’t just resent her. Truly.
Right now, at this very moment, I fucking hate her. Violently. Deeply. To the depths of my soul. I hate her. And if I could turn back time, I'd never have invited her into my home.
"It's okay to be honest, Julie." Dr. Reeves' voice is soft, condescending. "This is a safe space. We're all here to support each other."
I can't contain a snicker of derision. A safe place. Get the fuck out of here. "Sure."
Dr. Reeves waits for a few seconds to see if I'll say more. I stay silent, cock my head, and wait for her to continue. She nods to herself and writes something on her pad before speaking again.
"Devon is going through an incredibly difficult time," she says. "She's lost her mother and stepfather in a traumatic accident. She's displaced from her home, her panic attacks made in person school impossible so she’s home alone, and her entire life has changed. She needs stability and consistency from the people around her. She needs to feel safe, both physically and emotionally."
Safe. Like I'm a fucking threat? Is this really happening?
"What Devon needs right now," Dr. Reeves says, her eyes locked on mine, "is for theadultsin her life to regulate their emotions and provide a calm, supportive environment. She needs to know that she's not going to be punished for having needs. That she's not going to be made to feel guilty for existing."
The words hang in the air like accusations. "I've never once made her feel guilty," I say, and I can hear the edge in my voice now.
"Haven't you, though?" Dr. Reeves leans back in her chair, crossing her legs again. "Devon says you seem tense around her. That you're often short with her, dismissive. From some of the things Asher has told me, I’d say there’s a fair amount of passive aggression. Devon can see all of that. She feels like she's walking on eggshells in her own home."
Herown home. Not my home. Not our home. Hers. "I think there might be some miscommunication," I say carefully.
"Or perhaps," Dr. Reeves says, "there's some underlying stress that you're not addressing. Perhaps jealousy?"
I dead stare her. "Jealous of a teenage girl?"
