"Ryder..." I breathed, withdrawing my hand.
His eyes flicked up to mine, guilt written across them. "Sorry, Dec," he murmured quickly, shaking his head. "It's just... reflex. I don't even think about it. I—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening as though the words themselves were barbed wire.
"Don't apologize," I whispered, my throat raw. "Please don't." In that moment, my heart splintered for this man, for the reflexes that still claimed him like chains he couldn't yet shake.
And then suddenly, Ryder laughed. It broke out of him in a rush, shaking his shoulders until he had to brace a hand against the bench. The sheer absurdity spilled over him, unstoppable. "God," he wheezed between breaths, wiping at his damp eyes, "we are such a mess, both of us."
The sound was contagious, cutting through the heaviness like sunlight through storm clouds. A sob-laugh broke out of me, messy and ungraceful, tears blurring my vision as I doubled over. At least this was different from all the crying. When the laughter ebbed into a softer quiet, I straightened and caught hisgaze. His eyes were red at the edges, his mouth still curved as if he couldn't quite let go of the absurdity.
"So, Ryder..." I said carefully, though my lips still trembled with leftover laughter. "Do you want to start couples therapy with me?"
He blinked, surprised but then his expression shifted, warmed, softened. A slow smile stretched across his face, crinkling his eyes in that way that always undid me. "Yes, Ven," he said with mock gravity, pressing a hand over his heart. "With pleasure."
The office was quiet, softly lit, with bookshelves lined in neat rows and a faint scent of lavender in the air. I sat beside Ryder on the couch, not too close, not too far. My palms were clammy, pressed against my thighs. He looked the same, tense shoulders, restless hands, but his eyes flicked to mine, nervous and steady at once.
Dr. Klein sat back in her chair, her gaze steady but not unkind. She let the quiet breathe for a few moments before speaking. "Before we talk about the relationship now, I want us to step back. Both of you walked into your relationship before, carrying baggage. It's important to name it, otherwise it will keep slipping into your present without you noticing."
Her eyes turned first to Ryder. "Ryder, let's start with you. What kind of baggage did you bring with you?"
Ryder shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. His hand flexed against his knee as though grounding himself. "The abuse," he said finally, his voice low but steady. "It rewired me. I learnednot to trust. Not to believe I was safe. Even now, I catch myself waiting for the blow, even when it's not there."
Dr. Klein gave a slow nod, jotting down a note on her pad. "So the abuse taught you to withdraw and to hide behind a mask. Is that what you're saying?"
He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Yeah. Exactly that."
Then Dr. Klein's attention shifted to me. "And you, December? What about you? What baggage did you bring into this relationship?"
I hesitated, heat pricking at my skin under her steady gaze. Finally, I drew in a breath. "Low self-esteem," I admitted quietly. "I grew up believing I had to earn my place—that love wasn't unconditional. I thought if I was good enough, quiet enough, agreeable enough, I would be wanted. So I stayed silent, even when I was hurting. I kept pretending everything was fine because I didn't think I deserved more."
Dr. Klein's tone stayed professional, but there was compassion in her steadiness. "So, you tolerated what felt intolerable."
I nodded, throat tight.
Dr. Klein leaned forward slightly, her voice low but precise. "Do you see what was happening between you?" she asked. "Ryder, your instinct was to hide. December, your instinct was to stay silent. Together, those two reflexes built a pattern—secrets, silence, avoidance. You weren't just reacting to each other. You were reenacting survival strategies you both learned long before this relationship even began."
Ryder's jaw tightened. "But still," he muttered, "I caused the destruction of our relationship."
Dr. Klein folded her hands, her tone steady but gentle. "Ryder, you've been carrying a lot of blame for how things ended between you. Why is that?"
He kept his gaze low, shoulders tense. "Because it's my fault. My secret, my past. The abuse I didn't tell her about. I put her in danger and she had no idea."
Dr. Klein tilted her head, leaning in a fraction closer. "Okay, what if Mira decided to just go away and you decided to go official with December, do you truly believe your relationship would have worked back then?"
He looked up, startled, as if the question had never occurred to him. Slowly, his eyes shifted to me. "Would it have, Dec?"
The answer came before I could stop it. "No."
Ryder blinked, shock crossing his face. "No?"
My voice shook, but I forced it steady. "Ryder... even if that had happened, I'd always feel something was wrong with me—for you to have kept me a secret. But I wasn't honest either. I lied by omission. I kept things from you, things that cut me deep. I never told you how much it hurt to be hidden... how small, worthless, humiliated I felt. I swallowed it all because I wanted us to work so badly. Some nights... I'd cry quietly beside you, just so you wouldn't hear."
His face crumpled, every line etched with pain. "Dec..."
"And you wouldn't have told me about Mira... even if she disappeared, would you?" I asked.
"No," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I would've been too ashamed, too guilty to say anything."
"And I... I wouldn't have told you how horrible these months have felt... being your secret girlfriend." I added.
