Page 90 of Wreckage and Rain

"I'm seeing someone. A therapist. Dr. Ramos. He specializes in family manipulation and intimate partner violence." I give her the card. "You can call and verify. I want you to know this isn't performative."

She takes the card. Looks at it.

"He's helping me understand the patterns. Not just the conspiracy. The stuff in me that made it work. The need for my father's approval. How I transferred that need to Cheyenne. The way I..." I stop. The words are new in my mouth. Clumsy. "The way I took your love for granted because it was unconditional and gravitated toward attention that felt earned."

"That's specific."

"Dr. Ramos doesn't let me generalize."

"I like Dr. Ramos."

Something flickers across her face. Quick. Her eyes softening for half a second before her shield goes back up. I saw it. She knows I saw it.

"This doesn't change anything."

"I'm not doing it to change anything. I'm doing it because I should have done it years ago."

"You should have."

She turns the cup in her hands. Picks at the edge of the lid.

"I keep waiting for the version of you that was easy. The one who didn't make me do this much work."

"I know."

"I have been angry at you for months. I don't know what to do with the part of me that wants to be relieved by what you just said."

I don't interrupt her.

"And I'm not putting my life on hold while I figure that out. I'm not standing at any finish line."

"I'm not asking you to wait. I'm asking you to watch. That's it. And if what you see is real, then we talk about what comes next. And if it's not, you walk away and I'll have deserved it."

Quiet. She picks up her coffee. Drinks. Sets it down.

"I can watch."

***

I go to Vibes. Openly. Friday night. Sit at the bar. Order bourbon.

Sam serves me. The man who let her fall and the man who caught her, measuring each other across four feet of polished wood.

He sets the bourbon in front of me. "On the house."

"You don't have to."

"Wasn't a question."

We look at each other. What passes between us isn't what I expected. Not aggression. Not territory. Something quieter.

"She's the best person I've ever met," Sam says.

"I know. I almost destroyed her."

"Almost."

One word. Almost. What that one word holds. She survived. The destruction was incomplete.