Page 111 of Everything But Mine

Samir, the vet, leans forward. “Pain doesn’t need a ranking system.”

I flick my gaze toward my split skin. “Well, mine is self-inflicted.”

The silence that follows isn’t meditative. It’s dead air. I’ve stalled the session again.

The group leader checks the clock. “We’ll pause here. Movement session at 2:30. Belay partners will be assigned. Everyone”—his eyes focus on me—“be on time.”

Climbing is my thing. It settles me. Here, it pisses me off with how it’s monitored. Every partner complains that I lower too fast or climb too aggressively, and I have to slow down. It grates on me because I don’t have time to slow down.

By the time I log into my virtual session with Val, my shoulders ache from tension, and my skin feels too tight for my body. And Val’s going to clock it right away.

“Rough day?” Her glasses slide low on her nose. New hairstyle, too—half-up, half-down.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I snap. “Amanda is alone while I waste time journaling. I’m not even allowed to call her.”

Val arches her brow. “You’re saying you’ve learned nothing?”

“That I hate climbing with strangers. That I miss Amanda.” I scrub a hand over my face. “That everyone here has worse problems than me.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Tell me about Amanda.”

I clench my jaw. “You get to see her every day. You tell me.”

“She’s good.” Val nods. “She had lunch with Diego. Idiot didn’t realize she slipped him a twenty.”

I bark out a laugh, but it catches in my chest and lodges painfully between my ribs. My lungs strain against it, air refusing to move properly around the sound trapped in my throat. Then it finally breaks free, cracking into a loud, humiliating sob. And it doesn’t stop there. My whole torso convulses hard enough that I have to brace my elbows against the desk. Tears drip onto the surface while more slide down my face, my gaze fixed on the calluses split across my palms.

“Tell me about Amanda, Eric.”

I swallow. “It’s Wednesday. She’s twenty-six weeks and one day.” My voice cracks. “The baby is the size of a lettuce. In the planner she gave me before I left, this week, she’s making a checklist from the nursery and reading some thriller romance, tallying up the red flags.” Thinking of me, if I’m lucky. I wipe at my face harshly. “And she’s doing all of it without me. Because I couldn’t keep myself together.” A pathetic, high-pitched whimper leaves my throat. “She deserves better.”

“Do you hear yourself speaking of her? She deserves you, Eric.” The crackling of the audio feed on the computer fills the room. “You keep track of her pregnancy.”

I nod and shrug. “It’s stupid.”

Val shakes her head. “I disagree. She loved the notes you’re sending.”

“She likes them?” The weight on my chest lightens.

“Very much.”

I look away before I cry harder. “I don’t want to miss the next appointment.”

“We evaluate week by week,” Val says. “Now answer the question. What are you doing there?”

I drag both hands over my face. “I’m becoming the best version of me.”

She tilts her head slightly. “Do you think Amanda deserves someone who hates himself?”

I exhale shakily. “I told her I’d come back ready. But I don’t know what it means.”

“You do,” Val says. “Amanda doesn’t need perfection. She just wants you.”

My throat tightens. “She does, doesn’t she?”

She nods once. “And a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t accept that as her truth. That matters more than you think.”

For the first time all day, my chest feels a little less heavy.