Aaron exhaled calmly, he didn't push me after that.
Maybe he sensed the edge of my unraveling. Maybe he understood that if he pulled one thread too hard, the entire thing would collapse in his hands.
"We'll stop here for today," he said gently, glancing at the time. "You did more than enough."
Did I?
It didn't feel like enough. It felt like opening a door and then being told to leave the room before I could look around.
I stood slowly, my limbs heavy.
At the door, he paused.
"Alyssa," he said quietly.
I turned.
"What you went through wasn't drama."
The words settled somewhere deep and raw inside me.
I nodded once, unable to respond, and left before my composure betrayed me.
The house felt different when I returned.
Quieter.
Or maybe I was.
The sun was dipping low, staining the walls amber. I moved through the corridor slowly, aware of my own footsteps in a way I hadn't been before.
Believed.
The word followed me like a shadow.
You deserved to be believed.
I didn't know what to do with that sentence.
Dinner was already set when I walked into the dining room.
The chandelier cast a soft glow over the table, warm and golden. Everything looked perfect — like it always did. Elena was seated at the head of the table, scrolling through something on her phone. She looked up immediately when she saw me and smiled.
"There she is," she said gently. "How was therapy?"
Her voice was light. Curious. Caring.
"Fine," I said, taking my seat. "We talked."
Victor was already sitting across from me. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable. He didn't greet me. He didn't avoid me either. He just watched.
"About what?" Elena asked, reaching for the water jug.
"Childhood," I replied.
Elena paused for just half a second before pouring water into my glass. "Oh," she said softly. "That must have been… emotional."
"Not really," I said quickly. "It was just conversation."
Victor's fork scraped against his plate.
Elena gave me a sympathetic smile. "It's good you're doing this. Facing old things takes courage."
I shrugged. "It's not that serious."
"It always feels that way in the beginning," she said calmly. "But sometimes we don't realize how much we carry."
Victor finally spoke. "And this therapist," he said, his tone neutral. "You trust him?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Yes," I said. "Why wouldn't I?"
"No reason," he replied, cutting into his food.
Elena gave a soft laugh. "Victor worries about everything."
"I don't," he said flatly.
She smiled at him like she knew something I didn't. Then she turned back to me.
"You've always been sensitive," she said fondly. "You feel things very deeply. Therapy might help you balance that."
I smiled faintly. "That's one way to say I overthink."
Elena reached across the table and touched my hand briefly. "No," she said warmly. "It means you care. That's a beautiful thing."
Her touch was gentle. Familiar.
I didn't know why, but Victor's jaw tightened.
The conversation drifted after that — Lily's birthday preparations, some event at the company, small, ordinary things. Elena did most of the talking. Victor responded when necessary.
I mostly listened.
At one point, Elena said casually, "You know, when Alyssa was little, she used to imagine the most dramatic stories. We could never tell if something truly upset her or if she'd created a whole world in her head."
She laughed lightly.
I laughed too.
"I was creative," I corrected.
"You were," she agreed smoothly. "Very creative."
Victor looked between us but didn't comment.
I didn't think much of it.
Why would I?
Later, in my room, the silence felt louder than usual.
I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
Childhood.
Belief.
Endurance.
The words circled slowly.
I thought about Uncle Lucas.
About standing in that hallway.
About Elena's calm voice telling me not to exaggerate.
That might have been the worst part.
I lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling.
Why do I choose men who don't fully show up?
The answer came quietly.
Because I know how to survive them.
Victor never promised protection.
He promised intensity.
And intensity felt like proof.
Proof that I mattered.
But mattered to what end?
I turned onto my side.
What would it feel like to be chosen publicly?
The thought made my chest tighten.
Too exposed.
Too risky.
If someone chose you fully…
They could leave you fully.
And that kind of fall would break something permanent.
My eyes grew heavy.
Aaron's voice echoed faintly in my mind.
You deserved to be believed.
The sentence felt unfamiliar.
Like trying on a coat that didn't belong to me.
I didn't know how to wear it.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under.
I don't know how long I slept.
But something woke me.
Not a sound exactly.
More like a shift in the air.
My throat was dry.
Uncomfortably dry.
I sat up slowly, the room dim and quiet.
The house at night always felt different.
Less alive.
More watchful.
I slipped out of bed and padded toward the door.
The corridor was dark, lit only by faint light spilling from downstairs.
Strange.
didn't remember leaving anything on.
My pulse quickened slightly.
It was nothing, I told myself.
Just the house settling.
Just insomnia.
I moved carefully down the staircase, each step slow.
The kitchen light was off.
But something — someone — was there.
I felt it before I saw it.
A presence.
Still.
Watching.
I froze at the threshold.
The moonlight from the window cast long shadows across the floor.
And in the corner of the kitchen—
A figure stood near the counter.
Motionless.
My breath caught sharply in my throat.
For a split second, I couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
The shadow shifted slightly.
Just enough for me to see the outline of broad shoulders.
My heart pounded violently against my ribs.
"Victor?" I whispered.
The figure didn't answer.
And didn't move closer.
It just stood there.
Waiting.