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“Remy—”
“Please? Grandma makes the best lasagna. And I could show you my room and the picture you gave me—I put it on my wall.”
I looked at this little girl who’d been through so much, who was healing, who was now trying to orchestrate something with all the subtlety of a tornado.
And I realized I was in serious trouble.
Because I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be part of something warm and safe and real. But I couldn’t. Not while I was Remy’s therapist. It was a boundary I would not cross.
The thought crystallized, clear and certain.
I needed to transfer her.
Not because Remy wasn’t making progress—she was. But because I couldn’t be objective anymore. Because when I sat across from her, I thought about her father.
Because I was falling for Lane Daniels, and that meant I couldn’t be the therapist his daughter needed.
“Remy,” I said gently, “I think that would be nice. But I need to talk to your daddy first, okay?”
Her face lit up. “Really?”
“Really. But no promises yet.”
“Okay!” She went back to her drawing, humming happily.
I watched her draw—a house, a tree, three stick figures holding hands—and felt my heart clench.
I was going to miss this. But I couldn’t have both.
The session ended with Remy chattering about dinner. When Lane arrived, she launched herself at him.
“Daddy! Miss Jo said she’ll come to dinner if you invite her!”
Oh, God. My cheeks burned like fire. Lane’s eyes found mine over Remy’s head. I saw surprise there, and something else—something that made my stomach flutter.
“Did she now?” His voice was carefully neutral, but his gaze stayed locked on mine.
“Uh-huh! So you have to invite her!”
“Remy, Miss Jo is probably very busy—”
“Actually,” I interrupted, my heart pounding, “I’d like to talk to you. If you have a minute?”
Lane’s expression shifted. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Remy, would you mind waiting outside for just a moment?”
Remy looked between us, but nodded. “Okay. But don’t forget about dinner!”
She skipped out, leaving Lane and me alone.
The air felt charged, and I had to drag in oxygen.
“What’s going on?” Lane asked.
I took another breath. “I need to transfer Remy to another therapist.”
His face went carefully blank. “Why?”
