“How does it work? With kids, I mean. They’re six. I can’t exactly put them on a couch and ask about their feelings.”
She laughed—a genuine, warm sound. “No, we definitely don’t do that. With children, especially young ones, we use play therapy. Art, games, storytelling. It gives them a way to express and process experiences that they might not have words for.” Another pause. “I’d like to meet them, if you’re comfortable with that. And meet you properly, outside of a phone call. Maybe we could all get coffee first? Keep it casual?”
“I’d like that.”
“How about Saturday afternoon? There’s a coffee shop on Main Street with a little play area. Bring the boys. Let them run around, let us talk, and if it feels like a good fit, we can go from there.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Lilac?” Bea’s voice softened. “I know this is hard. Asking for help, admitting your kids need something you can’t give them on your own. That takes courage. You’re doing the right thing.”
I pressed my free hand against my chest, trying to steady my breathing. “Thank you.”
?
Saturday arrived bright and clear. And I was a nervous wreck.
My stomach churned as I pulled into the parking lot. This was ridiculous—I was meeting a therapist for coffee, not walking into a lion’s den. But my body didn’t seem to care about logic.
The coffee shop was exactly as Bea had described—cozy, with a small fenced play area in the back where kids could burn off energy while parents caffeinated. Knox and Luca were immediately drawn to the climbing structure, giving me a chance to study the woman waiting at a corner table.
Bea was beautiful in a quiet way—delicate features, hazel eyes, chestnut hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She wore a soft sweater and jeans, nothing intimidating about her. When she saw me approach, she stood with a smile that reached her eyes.
“Lilac. It’s so good to meet you in person.”
“You too.” I shook her hand, then sat across from her. “Thank you for suggesting this. The boys were excited about the play area.”
“That’s the idea. First meetings should be low-pressure.” She glanced toward the play structure, where Luca was helping Knox navigate the monkey bars. “They’re adorable. They look just like Colt.”
“Everyone says that.” I couldn’t help smiling. “Especially the stubborn set of their jaws.”
“Oh, I’ve met Colt. ‘Stubborn’ is putting it mildly.” Bea’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Must be a Venom Riders trait. I’ve been working with these guys for a few years now, and they’re all the same—tough as nails, stubborn as mules, and secretly softer than they’d ever admit.”
“You sound fond of them.”
“I am.” Her expression softened, then steadied—like she’d caught herself going somewhere personal. “They’re good men, most of the time. They just need someone who understands that tough exteriors often hide tender hearts.” She shook her head, as if dismissing whatever thought had crossed her mind. “Anyway. Tell me about your boys. Not the clinical version—the mom version. Who are Luca and Knox when they’re not carrying the weight of things they shouldn’t have to carry?”
I found myself relaxing into the conversation. I told her about Luca’s seriousness, his fierce protectiveness of his brother, his love of books and puzzles. About Knox’s boundless energy, his infectious laughter, his ability to make friends with anyone and anything. About the way they completed each other.
“They sound wonderful,” Bea said when I finished. “And they’re lucky to have a mom who pays such close attention to who they are.”
“I don’t feel lucky. I feel scared.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and suddenly I couldn’t hold back the flood. “Every time Luca cries, every time Knox goes quiet when he should be laughing—I feel like I’m failing them.” My hands trembled around my coffee cup. I set it down before I spilled.
“You’re not failing them.” Bea leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re seeing them. Really seeing them. And that’s more than a lot of parents manage. The nightmares, the anxiety—those aren’t signs that you’ve failed. They’re signs that your boys have been through something hard, and they need help processing it. Getting them that help isn’t failure. It’s love.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Then another. “Sorry.” I laughed shakily, swiping at my face. “I didn’t mean to fall apart on you.”
“Never apologize for emotions in front of a therapist. We live for this stuff.” Bea smiled warmly. “Now, would you like tointroduce me to those boys of yours? Just as a friend, nothing formal. Let them get used to me.”
The introduction went better than I’d hoped.
Knox, predictably, was charming from the start—showing Bea his climbing skills, chattering about everything from his favorite cartoon to the bike Colt was teaching him to ride. Luca was more reserved, watching Bea with those old-soul eyes, assessing whether she was safe.
But when Bea asked about his favorite book, Luca’s guard dropped—she’d read it too, and within minutes they were deep in conversation about plot twists and character motivations.
“She’s nice,” Luca said later, as we walked to the car. “She listens.”
“Yeah, buddy. She does.”
