Rebuilding Trust
Time crawled. James started therapy. Twice a week, unwavering. He returned drained, eyes sometimes red-rimmed. He rarely shared details, though once murmured, "Therapist said… living for the dead hurts the living more…" He focused more on home. Clumsily attempting Amy’s favorite pancakes (burned twice), taking her kite-flying weekends (tree-bound). He tried—awkward, earnest.
The atmosphere shifted. Gone was the false calm; in its place, a silence thick with testing, mending, and unspoken strain. Amy sensed it too, becoming unusually quiet, no longer asking about "business trips." One night, James showering, his phone charging on the nightstand. It lit up—a new text. My heart clenched. Fingers curled, nails digging. Check it? The rules felt like shackles. I didn’t move. Just turned away, back to the glowing screen. Trust rebuilt one agonizing brick at a time.
Revelation at the Zoo
Weekend at the zoo. Sun bright. Amy perched on James’s shoulders, squealing at a tiger. James managed a smile, holding her securely. Sunlight caught his face—fine lines, lingering shadows beneath his eyes. Amy pressed against the glass, enthralled by an animal show.
James and I stood back. He spoke suddenly, voice low, almost lost: "Amy…" I glanced his way. He stared into the distance, throat working. "Therapy… it’s harder than I imagined. Every session… like skinning myself alive." Long pause. Wind stirred his hair. "He asked… after Lucy… my frantic work, caring for Vivian… was it… punishment?" A bitter twist of his lips. "Said… I nailed myself to guilt’s cross, rejecting freedom… because moving on felt… like betraying Lucy."
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Time crawled. James started therapy. Twice a week, unwavering. He returned drained, eyes sometimes red-rimmed. He rarely shared details, though once murmured, "Therapist said… living for the dead hurts the living more…" He focused more on home. Clumsily attempting Amy’s favorite pancakes (burned twice), taking her kite-flying weekends (tree-bound). He tried—awkward, earnest.
The atmosphere shifted. Gone was the false calm; in its place, a silence thick with testing, mending, and unspoken strain. Amy sensed it too, becoming unusually quiet, no longer asking about "business trips." One night, James showering, his phone charging on the nightstand. It lit up—a new text. My heart clenched. Fingers curled, nails digging. Check it? The rules felt like shackles. I didn’t move. Just turned away, back to the glowing screen. Trust rebuilt one agonizing brick at a time.
Revelation at the Zoo
Weekend at the zoo. Sun bright. Amy perched on James’s shoulders, squealing at a tiger. James managed a smile, holding her securely. Sunlight caught his face—fine lines, lingering shadows beneath his eyes. Amy pressed against the glass, enthralled by an animal show.
James and I stood back. He spoke suddenly, voice low, almost lost: "Amy…" I glanced his way. He stared into the distance, throat working. "Therapy… it’s harder than I imagined. Every session… like skinning myself alive." Long pause. Wind stirred his hair. "He asked… after Lucy… my frantic work, caring for Vivian… was it… punishment?" A bitter twist of his lips. "Said… I nailed myself to guilt’s cross, rejecting freedom… because moving on felt… like betraying Lucy."
NEXT >>
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