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“And I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with Maeve bringing you home instead of taking you to a hospital.”
“Also, not surprised.” But I also had a feeling no one and nothing could talk Mom out of it.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t just mean today. What you’ve been through… that’s a lot for any one person to go through.”
“I can’t talk about it,” I told him. The heavy sigh he let out had me fucking backpedaling. “I can’t talk about it right now, David. I’m… I can’t handle much more right now.”
“Understandable,” he replied. “I’d like you to come see me in the next few days. I’d like to talk about changing your medication.”
“Why?”
“Because the intense ups and downs aren’t supposed to happen,” David explained. “I think there’s a better combination out there that could help you feel more stable. I think coupled with intensive therapy, you can make real progress.”
I tried not to groan. Intensive therapy. I hated the fucking sound of that. Honestly, I’d do it, but right now, I didn’t want to fucking think about it.
“Can I ask you something else?” I said instead to divert the conversation. “You probably can’t fucking answer this. Why would she do it? Genevieve, I mean. Why would she keep going back to her fucking father after everything?”
And throw me under the bus in the process. But I kept that thought out of my mouth.
“Stockholm Syndrome.”
“Isn’t that a prisoner-captive thing?” I asked. “Beauty and the Beast? That was Stockholm Syndrome, wasn’t it?”
“When you’re a child, your survival relies on your parents,” David replied. “A bond forms as a way to survive. And when abuse of any kind is introduced to that bond, it becomes a trauma bond. Not everyone fights for survival. Genevieve uses love and obedience as a survival technique without realizing it. If she loves him hard enough, if she does what he says, maybe he won’t hurt her. Trauma bonds… you can’t break that for her, Killian. It has to come from her, and it takes years of work. She has to be ready for it.”
“I thought she was.”
“I don’t think she was. I think you scared her into thinking she’d lose you.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did the right thing for you,” he interrupted quickly. “You needed to do it for your own mental and emotional well-being. There’s nothing wrong with that, and you aren’t responsible for her response. But fear motivating more fear… it doesn’t end well. Genevieve has to want to save herself. That’s the only way it works.”
I hated that. I fucking hated that so goddamn much because deep down, I knew Genevieve wouldn’t. If she hadn’t by now, there was no way in hell she ever would.
Chapter 75
Genevieve
The neighbors across the street from my parents had lived there less than a year—a job opening at the mill had brought them to Cedar Harbor. Emily and Jake were their names. They were nice enough, quiet, and to themselves. They had a three-year-old boy named Eli with sunshine hair, bright blue eyes, and a laugh so loud it could be heard from across the street.
I’d seen him dozens of times but this time? This time was different as I stared out the living room window. I watched him as he shrieked and ran through piles of leaves, throwing them and giggling.
Would our son have liked leaves? Would we have spent fall afternoons raking up piles of leaves together only for our son to destroy each one? Killian would’ve helped him—made a game of it. Would I have buried him in them? Pretend I couldn’t find him in a game of hide-and-seek?
He would’ve been three this year.
That could’ve been us.
The thoughts were foreign—ones I never let myself entertain. They were full of painful what-ifs. But it was as if my mind was broken. There was no compartmentalizing it. No, putting it away neatly so my heart didn’t hurt. I was stuck in it—treading water so to speak.
I couldn’t begin to define what I was feeling. Grief didn’t seem to be a big enough word.
How long I stood there staring was up for debate. A few minutes? A few hours? Who knew? I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from them.
Envy? Was this envy?
I wanted that.
