ONE MONTH LATER
She hasn’t initiated those words. Hasn’t even said them back yet.
But the sting I thought the absence of those three little words would bring isn’t there.
Because my girlfriend—yes, girlfriend, not fiancée—loves mespecifically. In her own specific ways that I realize were already so intricately woven into our relationship. All while I was too foolishly distracted by my own doubts and assumptions to recognize them.
But they’re so clear now that I know what to actually look for. They’ve become etched into my mind, catalogued carefully, and somehow they keep multiplying.
Every day, I discover another one.
She starts a separate cup of coffee for me minutes before my alarm goes off. The tubs of protein powder in the pantry are arranged according to their expiration dates because she knows I’ll never pay attention to them. Even the streamlined plan for terminating the Astor-Wentworth merger was executed flawlessly, and I had her to thank for that.
Despite how much it hurt her—us—she still did it.
She even timidly suggested that I join her for one of the therapy sessions she’d resumed attending. The invitation felt like a trembling hand stretched out.
But it also came with a confession that gutted me.
She had stopped going, over three months ago. Right around the time she’d started feeling secure in our relationship. Right around the time I’d first told her I loved her.
The realization sat like a boulder in my chest for days. All those months ago, when she had been settling into the safety of us, believing she finally had something stable to lean on, I was unknowingly setting the stage for the very thing that would yank that trust from right under her.
Since our conversation last month, we’ve had dozens more. Some have been difficult. Some have left us both emotionally exhausted. But every single one has given me a clearer, less foggy window into her mind. And every single one has made me fall harder.
A few weeks ago, she finally met with her family doctor and worked out a titration plan to restart medication.
When I asked how she felt about going back on Seroquel, her hesitation was immediate and understandable. The withdrawal had been brutal onher body, and neither of us was eager to repeat that experience.
The very next day, I suggested she get a second opinion from my family doctor instead. Her clinic has a highly respected mental health service.
Since her referrals came with more recommendations than I could count, Cece agreed.
Dr. Daisy Cheung ultimately started her on a low-dose combination of a mood stabilizer and Abilify. A piece of information Cece wholeheartedly shared with me.
Which was another change. She trusted me enough. At least with this.
It’s only been a few days, so she isn’t entirely sure how she feels about the new treatment plan yet. But she’s hopeful.
And for the first time in months, her real smile is back.
Not all the time.
Not every day.
But often enough that I catch myself staring whenever it appears like the besotted fool I am. Which only makes her smile softer when she notices me.
I’m jolted out of my comforting Cece thoughts when a hand lands firmly on my shoulder.
“It’s time, man,” Taewon says, giving my back a gentle pat.
The weight of his hand forces me to finally look up from the chair I’ve been occupying for the better part of an hour.
My stomach immediately twists.
Right.
This.
