Page 71 of Anything But Lonely

I don’t remember the last time I cried.

Actually cried.

The kind where my body gives in before my mind has a chance to stop it.

Because I thought I had already dealt with this. I thought shutting it all away meant I had survived it. That if I stopped feeling the pain, it meant the pain had stopped existing.

But it didn’t disappear.

It just waited.

Every moment I forced myself to be strong. Every time I swallowed down the fear. Every time I convinced myself I was fine because I had to be.

It was all still there.

The hospital room. The machines.

The moment I realized there was nothing I could do to save her.

And now Jack, sitting in front of me, looking at me with the same helplessness I felt back then, and I hate that I’m putting him through this.

He’s looking at me the same way I looked at her.

Like he’s watching someone he loves disappear and doesn’t know how to stop it.

“I hate myself every day that I wasn’t there when she died,” he says, a tear falling from the corner of his eye. “And I hate myself even more that you had to go through that alone.”

I shake my head as if it’ll stop the words from landing where they imprint themselves on my heart.

Jack’s arms wrap around me until I feel his solid chest against my face, and I completely fall apart.

CHAPTER 26

EMERSON

“I want to end our session today by saying I know how hard this must have been for you,” the therapist says as we both stand. “You should be so proud of taking this first step in your healing journey.”

I nod, thanking Dr. Hannah for her time before making my way toward my car. The January air bites at my cheeks as I cross the parking lot, my hands tucked into the pockets of my trench coat.

I still can’t believe I’m starting a brand-new year without my mom.

It’s the first thing I said to Dr. Hannah when she wished me a Happy New Year at the beginning of our session today.

Not thank you.

Not you too.

Just the truth I couldn’t stop myself from saying.

Dr. Hannah is probably around my age, which I immediately liked. She has dark brown hair with purple streaks woven through it, a tattoo peeking out around her ankle, and a small piercing in her nose.

After my breakdown in Jack’s office earlier this week, he carefully brought up the idea of therapy.

Not as a suggestion.

Not as a lecture.

Just as a possibility.