“He was particularly concerned about how his illness affected your career. He worried constantly that his needs were holding you back. That your need to protect him was preventing you from living your own life.”
“He was never a burden.” My throat hurts.
“To you, no. But in his mind—a mind affected by severe depression—he had become exactly that.” She leans forward slightly. “Roman, the narrative you’ve constructed about failing your brother is at direct odds with how he viewed your relationship. You see yourself as not having done enough. He saw you as having done too much, to your own detriment.”
I stand because I can’t sit with this. Move to the window. Stare at the Seattle skyline without seeing it.
“But if that’s true—” My voice sounds wrong. “Then why?—”
I can’t finish. Can’t ask why he did it if I was doing everything right.
Because if I was doing everything right and he still died, then?—
“Why did he take his own life?” Dr. Kim finishes.
I nod, still facing the window.
“Depression is a complex illness with many contributing factors. It’s not reducible to a single cause or preventable by a single person’s actions, no matter how loving or attentive.”
“But there must have been signs.” I turn to face her. “There must have been something I missed.”
“There often are signs. But they can be impossible to recognizewithout specialized training, especially when someone is deliberately concealing them.” She pauses. “Matthew was very good at hiding his darkest thoughts. Even from me.”
My hands curl into fists. “What do you mean even from you?”
“Even in our session the day before he died, I didn’t see this coming.”
The room tilts. I sit back down because my legs won’t hold me.
“You didn’t?”
“No.” Her voice is soft. “I’ve reviewed that session many times. There were subtle indications he’d made a decision, but nothing that clearly pointed to suicide. He’d become skilled at compartmentalizing—showing us what he thought we could handle while keeping the worst hidden.”
I stare at her. This woman with her degrees and training and years of experience.
“If you couldn’t see it?—”
“Then you certainly couldn’t have,” she finishes. “That’s what I’m trying to help you understand. You didn’t fail Matthew. You couldn’t have saved him because he didn’t let anyone see what needed saving.”
The absolution should feel like relief.
Instead it feels like the floor dropping out from under me.
Because if I couldn’t have prevented it, if even his therapist missed it, then Matty died for no reason. Just chemicals and timing and a decision made in a moment I’ll never understand.
And that’s somehow worse than thinking I failed.
“It wasn’t your fault, Roman.” Dr. Kim’s voice is gentle but firm. “You didn’t fail Matthew. Depression failed him. But you? You were his rock until the very end.”
My throat closes. I press my fingers against my eyes, trying to physically stop what’s coming, but it doesn’t work.
My breath catches once, twice. A tear slides down and I wipe it away hard, angry that my body is betraying me like this.
“I still miss him.” The words come out broken. “Every day.”
“Of course you do. That’s the nature of love. It doesn’t end just because the person is gone.”
I force myself to breathe. To hold it together.
