66

66


The clock on the wall ticked too loud.

Or maybe it was Savannah’s heart.

She sat on the same couch as last time legs crossed, hands clasped tight in her lap, a fresh tissue already balled up between her fingers even though she hadn’t cried yet.

Dr. Moore sat across from her, notebook in hand, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied up today, her expression as unreadable as always.

“Would you like to start,” she asked gently, “or should I?”

Savannah stared at her for a moment. Then shrugged. “You go.”

Dr. Moore nodded and glanced at her notes. “Last time, you described the encounter as…” She paused, then read directly from her page. “‘He just fucked me.’ Not sex. Not love. Just that.”

Savannah closed her eyes and let the words hit her again. They still felt true. Too true.

“I need you to tell me why that moment what happened still echoes so loudly in you,” the therapist continued. “And why you're back here today, instead of trying to forget it ever happened.”

Savannah let out a bitter laugh. “Forget it? I’ve tried.”

“And?”

“I still feel him.” Her voice cracked. “I still want to feel him.”

Dr. Moore didn’t blink. “Even though you love your husband.”

“Yes.”

“Even though you hate what happened.”

Savannah looked down. “Yes.”

There was silence. Not the judging kind. Just space for truth to breathe.

She rubbed her forehead and whispered, “I thought maybe… if I came in here, talked it out, processed it, whatever you call it I thought it would go away. But it hasn’t. If anything, I want him more. And I don’t know what that says about me.”

Dr. Moore leaned forward. “Tell me what you remember most vividly about that night.”

Savannah clenched her jaw. “The way he looked at me. Like he saw something in me I didn’t even know existed. Like he knew exactly how to break me and I let him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, almost yelling. “I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve never even thought about cheating on Marcus. But this man, he he made me feel like someone else. Like the woman I’d buried under years of stability and routine and safety.”

Dr. Moore was quiet a moment, then asked softly, “Are you unhappy in your marriage?”

“No.” The answer came fast, instinctual. “Marcus is everything a woman could ask for. Gentle. Loyal. Thoughtful. He knows me.”

“But does he see you?”

Savannah stilled.

“What do you mean?”

“Does he see the parts of you that want, that hunger, that ache? Does he see the version of you that isn't so put-together? The one who feels lost and wild and… wrong?”

Savannah blinked. Then swallowed. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t let him.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid it’ll ruin us.”

Dr. Moore nodded. “And Damien saw those parts?”

Savannah bit her lip. Hard. “He didn’t just see them. He… tore them open.”

She shook her head, a tear finally sliding down. “I hated it. And I loved it. I can’t stop thinking about it. Not because it was romantic. It wasn’t. It was dirty. It was brutal. It was… consuming.”

Dr. Moore wrote something in her notebook. “So, you’re not in love with him?”

Savannah’s laugh came out sharp. “Love? No. God, no. He’s dangerous. Reckless. He doesn’t care about me.”

“But you’re drawn to him.”

She nodded. “Like he’s a drug I never meant to try.”

“What’s the high?”

Savannah stared at her. “The loss of control. The way he takes without asking. The way he touches me like I don’t belong to anyone but him.” She paused, voice lower. “With Marcus, it’s always soft. Respectful. Tender. And I love that. But with Damien…”

Another pause.

“I don’t have to be the good wife. I don’t have to be anything but his. And that terrifies me, because I liked it. Too much.”

Dr. Moore leaned back. “So you’re not here to forget him. You’re here because you’re afraid you won’t.”

Savannah looked down. The tissue in her hand was shredded.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Have you seen him again?”

She hesitated. “No. Not yet.”

“But you want to.”

“Yes.” Her voice broke. “God, yes.”

“And your husband?”

Savannah’s throat tightened. “He made me breakfast this morning. Asked me if I wanted to go away next weekend. A cabin near the lake.” She wiped a tear. “He still thinks I’m his.”

Dr. Moore was quiet a moment, then said, “Are you still his?”

Savannah didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Because the part of her that still belonged to Marcus was now bruised, trembling, and hiding in the shadow Damien left behind.

Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re someone in crisis. Someone who has been living one life but carrying another inside. Damien didn’t create that part of you, Savannah. He just gave it permission.”

That landed like a slap.

Savannah stood suddenly, pacing. “So what now? Do I run back to him? Blow up my life because I can’t stop craving someone I barely know?”

“No,” Dr. Moore said calmly. “You figure out why you’re craving him. And what part of you believes you only get to feel alive when you’re being undone.”

Savannah turned to her. “But what if I go back anyway?”

“Then you deal with the consequences. But don’t lie to yourself. If you go back to Damien, it won’t be for closure. It will be for chaos.”

Savannah sat down again, trembling. “I think… I want the chaos.”

Dr. Moore’s voice was quiet. “Then the question becomes: what are you willing to lose to feel that alive again?”

The session ended ten minutes later, but the question stayed with her long after she walked out the door.