chapter 165
Elena's POV:
Dr. Klein settled into the armchair across from me, his presence both professional and surprisingly calming.
The sitting room felt different without Sebastian's overwhelming energy filling every corner, though I could still sense him hovering somewhere beyond the door, probably pacing in his study like a caged predator.
"How are you feeling today, Elena?" Dr. Klein's voice carried that particular therapist quality—gentle but probing.
I traced the edge of the bandage on my hand, considering the question. How did I feel? Empty. Hollow. Like someone had scooped out my insides and left only the shell behind.
"I don't know," I admitted finally. "Everything feels... distant. "
He nodded, making a small note. "That's a common response to emotional trauma. Your mind is trying to protect you by creating distance from the pain."
"Is it working?" The bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Because I still feel like I'm drowning, just... slowly. From the inside out."
"Tell me what you'd most like to do right now, if you could do anything at all."
The question caught me off guard.
I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander past the expectations and obligations that pressed down like lead weights.
"I want my mother to be dead," I said quietly, opening my eyes to meet his steady gaze. "Actually dead. "
Dr. Klein didn't flinch at my honesty. "That's a very human response. The desire to rewrite our painful histories."
"It's not about hate," I continued, needing him to understand. "I don't have enough energy left to hate her. It's about... fairness, I suppose. She got to leave, to build a new life with new daughters who probably don't even know I exist. She got to choose. She could have stayed out of my life forever, let me believe she was truly gone. "
"And how does that make you feel about your current situation?"
I almost smiled at the textbook question.
"That's exactly what I can't figure out," I admitted. "Part of me knows I should let go, move forward, accept what is. Another part is still angry—furious, actually—at everything happening now. And then there's this... ache. This bitter regret about the past, all the what-ifs that won't leave me alone."
Dr. Klein nodded thoughtfully. "You're experiencing what we call complicated grief—mourning not just what was lost, but what never was. It's perfectly normal to hold multiple, even contradictory emotions."
"So what do I do with them?" I asked, hearing the desperation creep into my voice. "How do I move forward when I'm being pulled in three different directions?"
"We don't try to resolve them all at once," he said gently. "Instead, we acknowledge each feeling as valid. We give them space to exist without letting any single one take control. Think of it as learning to carry multiple truths simultaneously—you can work toward acceptance while still honoring your anger and grief. They're not mutually exclusive."
"That sounds... exhausting."
"It can be," he agreed. "But it's also more honest than forcing yourself to feel only one way. Healing isn't about choosing the 'right' emotion—it's about learning to navigate the full spectrum of what you feel."
We talked for another hour, circling around the wounds that wouldn't heal, the future I couldn't envision, the past that kept bleeding into my present.
By the end, I felt wrung out but strangely lighter, as if speaking the ugly truths aloud had released some of their poison.
After he left, I sat alone in the sitting room for several minutes, gathering the energy to face Sebastian.
When I finally made my way to his study, I found him exactly as expected—behind his desk, pretending to work while obviously having accomplished nothing. The moment I appeared in the doorway, his head snapped up, dark eyes scanning me for signs of distress.
"How was it?" The question came out more demanding than he probably intended.
"Fine," I said, moving to sink into one of the leather chairs across from his desk. "Helpful, actually."
He studied me with that intensity that used to terrify me, searching for lies or hidden pain. Finding neither seemed to disconcert him more than tears would have.
"Dr. Klein helped me understand something," I continued, tracing patterns on the leather armrest. "The more I try to shut out my emotions, the harder they hit when they finally break through."
His expression shifted, something raw and vulnerable flickering beneath his controlled facade. Before he could respond, my phone buzzed on his desk. We both saw the caller ID: John.
Sebastian's hand moved faster than thought, snatching the phone and declining the call. It immediately rang again—Scarlett this time.
His finger hovered over the decline button, but I shook my head, a strange smile tugging at my lips. "I just said I'm done running from things, didn't I? I'm not interested in maintaining polite facades anymore either."
I held out my hand for the phone. "It's time I stopped pretending any of this is civilized."
Sebastian's eyes searched mine for a long moment before reluctantly handing over the device. I could feel his tension ratcheting higher as I accepted the call.
"Elena?" Scarlett's voice was weak, perfectly crafted for sympathy. "Oh, sweetheart, thank goodness. I was so worried when you didn't answer..."
"What do you want?" I kept my tone flat, clinical.
"I—" She paused, probably thrown by my lack of warmth. "I was hoping you could come by today. I just... I just want to see you. "
Something cold and sharp crystallized in my chest. "Fine," I said, surprising both Sebastian and myself. "I'll come. It's time we had an honest conversation anyway. Clear the air properly."
"Really?" Hope crept into her voice. "Oh, Elena, you are —"
I cut her off. "We'll see you within the hour."
I hung up before she could respond.