Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
My heart clenches. How many times has he replayed those last moments over and over in his head? Regret is like an anchor that wraps around the heart and weighs it down, keeping it from sailing free. I certainly understand that feeling. Connor and I had both said some hateful things before he left that last time, too. I understand the weight of guilt on a deeply personal level. I hate Connor for what he did, yet not a day goes by when I don’t think to myself, if I’d only done something when I found that first prescription pad missing, gotten him help instead of burying my head in the sand.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to guide this man to get over that guilt, when I can’t even get over my own. So I give him the textbook answer and plow through.
“Well, that’s obviously a very difficult memory to let go of. But you can’t reduce your entire relationship to only the last moments. May I ask what led to the breakdown of your relationship?”
“I found out my wife was cheating on me with a coworker. I’d suspected it for a while, but she wouldn’t admit it.” Gabriel looks into my eyes. “So I followed her. And caught them in the act.”
My eyes widen. Followed her.
“I know.” He shrugs. “Not my finest moment.”
He’s mistaken the shock on my face as judgment, when really it’s only the thought of him following someone the way I followed him that rattles me. “No, no, no.” I wave my hands. “I wasn’t thinking you did anything inappropriate. I was thinking it must have been horrible for you to catch them.”
“Oh.” He nods. “Yeah, it was.” His eyes roam my face. “You married?”
“Divorced.”
As a rule, I never divulge personal information about my family to a patient. But his question catches me so off guard that the lie tumbles out before I can even consider that the proper answer would be not to answer at all.
“Did he cheat?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“How long ago was your divorce?”
I feel like I’m barreling down a bumpy road, but I don’t know how to stop it.
“About eighteen months ago.”
He nods. “I went on a date a few weeks ago. She invited me back to her place after. I wanted to sleep with her. But I felt guilty. Part of me still feels like I’m married. I think it’s probably easier to jump back into things after a divorce. Is it? My wife died about the same time you got divorced. Have you been with anyone yet?”
“No.”
Gabriel’s eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. It’s so quick that I’m already second-guessing whether it even happened. Maybe I imagined it. I don’t know. But the one thing I’m certain of is that I need to stop this line of discussion before it gets any worse. I should’ve never answered his first question, much less whether I’ve slept with anyone. So I straighten my back and sit taller in my chair, redirecting our conversation to how he felt when he walked in on his wife with another man. We spend a good deal of time there today, and by the time the conversation lulls, I almost feel like he’s a routine patient. Almost.
“This is good progress,” I say. “The first step in getting over guilt is acknowledging it exists.”
“I’ve known it existed for a long time. What’s the second step?”
“Forgiveness. Your wife was human. She made a mistake. You need to find a way to forgive her before you can truly move forward.”
“How do I do that when she’s dead?”
“Sometimes it helps to talk to the person. They don’t need to be there for you to say what needs to be said. Perhaps you might write a letter, letting her know how much she’s hurt you.”
Gabriel rakes a hand through his hair. “Life is really one big circle, isn’t it? I used to write Ellen letters when we first started dating.”
I smile sadly. “That’s sweet. No one writes letters anymore.”
“Not unless you count the messages you send on a dating app when you’re getting to know someone.”
A dating app…
Like the one I was chatting on only last night. There I was, sipping a glass of wine and flirting with a random stranger, while Gabriel couldn’t sleep. I shouldn’t be allowed to smile until this man is truly happy again.
God, how can he ever be happy again after what he’s lost?
Poor little Rose.
And there goes my heart, racing again. It feels like I’m doing intermittent exercise today. Speed up. Slow down. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. But I need to keep my head screwed on straight to do my job. So I force myself back to our discussion.
“Are you active on one of those? Dating apps, I mean?”
He nods. “I am.”