Chapter 96 #96
Chapter 96
~Shailyn's POV~
I stare at my phone for the tenth time this morning, contemplating on texting Dwayne. I shouldn't be doing this but I did it anyway.
Finally, I type: Are you okay? You left so suddenly yesterday.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
Dante had gone to Gramps and Tyler. I told him I had a day out with Hannah, didn't tell him what we are going to do.
My phone buzzes. Dwayne: I'm fine. Just had something to handle. Sorry for rushing out.
I type back: Are you sure? You seemed upset.
I'm sure. Don't worry about me.
"Shailyn!" Hannah's voice comes from downstairs. "I'm here!"
"Coming!"
I grab my bag and head down. Hannah's waiting in the foyer, looking annoyingly cheerful.
"Ready for your first therapy session?" She said quietly that only I could hear.
"I guess."
"You guess? Shay, this is good for you."
"I know. I'm just nervous."
"That's normal. Come on, I'm driving."
We get in her car, and she immediately starts fiddling with the radio.
"So," she says casually. "How are you feeling about all this?"
"About therapy?"
"About everything. The memories. The pregnancy. Dwayne."
"Why do you keep bringing up Dwayne?"
"Because you keep avoiding the question."
"There's nothing to avoid. He's my brother-in-law."
"Who gave you a very thoughtful Christmas gift."
"Hannah—"
"I'm just saying. The man clearly cares about you."
"He cares about everyone. That's just who he is."
"If you say so."
We drive in silence for a few minutes.
"Hannah?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing? Going to therapy?"
"Absolutely. Why? Are you having second thoughts?"
"No. I just... what if I remember something I don't want to remember?"
"Then you deal with it. With help. That's why you're doing this."
"But what if it changes everything?"
"Would that be so bad?"
"I don't know. Everything feels stable right now. What if remembering makes it all fall apart?"
Hannah pulls into the parking lot of the therapist’s office. "Shay, look at me."
I turn to her.
"Whatever you remember, whatever happens, I'm here. Okay? You're not alone in this."
"Okay."
"Now come on. Let's go meet your therapist."
\---
Dr. Clara’s office is warm and comfortable. Soft lighting, plush chairs, calming colors. She's a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
"Shailyn, it's so nice to meet you," she says, shaking my hand. "Please, have a seat."
I sit in the chair across from her. Hannah waits in the lobby.
"So," Dr. Clara says, settling into her own chair. "Tell me what brings you here."
"I lost my memory."
"And you're hoping therapy will help you remember?"
"Maybe. Or at least help me understand why I can't."
"That's a good goal. Let's start with how you're feeling about the memory loss."
"I feel... lost. Like there's this entire part of my life that everyone else knows about but me. People tell me stories about things I did, things I said, and I have no connection to any of it."
"That must be very isolating."
"It is. I keep trying to remember. I push and push, but nothing comes."
"And how does that make you feel?"
"Frustrated. Scared. Sometimes I wonder if my brain is protecting me from something."
"That's very insightful. Our minds do sometimes block out traumatic memories."
"But what if it's blocking out good memories too? What if I'm missing out on things I should know?"
"Tell me about your support system. Who's been helping you through this?"
"My husband, Dante. He's been amazing. Very patient."
"That's wonderful. Anyone else?"
"My friend Hannah. She's been there for everything."
"What about family?"
"Dante's family. His brother?"
“Brother?”
I pause. "Dwayne. Yes."
"You hesitated. Why?"
"I don't know. He's... he's been helpful too."
"But?"
"But nothing. He's just family."
Dr. Clara writes something down. "Tell me about your relationship with Dante. How do you feel when you're with him?"
"I feel... safe. Loved. He takes care of me."
"That's good. But how do you feel about him?"
"I love him. He's my husband."
"You say that very definitively."
"Because it's true."
"Shailyn, I'm not questioning your love for your husband. I'm just asking how you feel. Not what you think you should feel. Especially since you lost your memory. It is important to note that the love will start afresh."
I'm quiet for a moment. "I feel grateful. He's been so patient with me. So understanding."
"Grateful is different from in love."
"I am in love with him."
"Okay. What makes you feel in love with him?"
"He's kind. Attentive. He makes me feel wanted."
"Those are wonderful qualities. But I notice you're describing what he does for you, not how you feel about him."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Not necessarily. Let me ask you this, when you're with Dante, do you feel butterflies? Excitement? That pull toward him?"
"I... I don't know. I'm pregnant. My hormones are all over the place."
"That's fair. But outside of hormones, how do you feel?"
"I feel comfortable."
"Comfortable is good. But it's also safe. Predictable."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. Unless you're using comfort to avoid other feelings."
"I'm not avoiding anything."
"Okay. Then let me ask you something else. Is there anyone else in your life who makes you feel less comfortable? Less safe?"
Dwayne's face flashes in my mind.
"No."
"You answered very quickly."
"Because the answer is no."
Dr. Susan leans back. "Shailyn, I want you to know this is a safe space. Whatever you say here stays here. You don't have to hide anything from me."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"Okay. Then let's talk about what you want from these sessions. What are your goals?"
"I want to remember. I want to feel like myself again."
"And who is yourself?"
"I don't know. That's the problem."
"Then maybe that's where we start. Not trying to remember who you were, but discovering who you are now."
"But I need to know who I was to understand who I am."
"Do you? Or do you need permission to be someone different?"
The question hits me like a physical blow.
"I don't want to be different. I want to be me."
"And maybe you already are. Maybe the you now is just as valid as the you before."
We talk for another thirty minutes. Dr. Susan is patient, asking questions that make me think. Questions I don't always want to answer.
When the session ends, I feel exhausted.
"You did really well today," Dr. Susan says. "Same time next week?"
"Yes. Thank you."
I walk out to the lobby where Hannah is scrolling through her phone.
"How was it?" she asks.
"Intense."
"Good intense or bad intense?"
"I don't know yet."
"Well, you survived. That's what matters."
We walk to the parking lot, and Hannah pulls out her phone.
"Actually, I can't drive you home. Emergency at home."
"What? Hannah—"
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. But I already called someone to pick you up."
"Who?"
A car pulls up. A familiar car.
The driver's door opens, and Dwayne steps out.
My heart does that stupid flutter thing.
"You called Dwayne?" I ask Hannah.
"He was available. And he's family. What's the big deal?"
"Hannah—"
"I have to go. Text me later!" She practically runs to her car.
I turn to Dwayne, who's watching me carefully.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi."
"Ready to go home?"
No. I'm not ready. Because being alone in a car with him feels dangerous in ways I can't explain.
But I nod anyway.
"Yeah. Let's go.”