Prologue
February, 2000
For the first time, I walked into my therapist’s office with my head held high. I took four steps to my chair and sank into the overstuffed cushions. For months, I had depended on its snug fabric feeling like an encouraging hug that would give me the confidence to tell Mrs. Thompson all the ugly details of my past. But not that day. I had all the confidence I needed inside of me. I squared my shoulders, looked her in the eye, and said, “I’ve decided that I’m done with therapy. I’m excited about moving to New York and starting my new life.”
She leaned forward and tilted her head. “How does that make you feel?”
I held eye contact. “Glad that I’ll never have to answer that question again.”
“Funny”—she used her pointer finger to push up her Christian Dior glasses—“but answer it just one more time.” Whenever she adjusted her expensive eyewear, it was a sign that she was serious and wanted me to be too.
“Relieved.” I took a deep breath. “I’m relieved that I don’t need therapy anymore. I’m relieved that I’ve become a stronger person. If I can survive what Jack put me through, then I can survive just about anything.”
Her eyes lit up, and she closed her pad of paper as her lips turned upward.
“I’m glad you approve.” I reciprocated the smile.
“I’m curious, why do you hate that question? You know, ‘how does that make you feel?’ After all, that question is what got you to where you are today.”
“True. It’s more like a love and hate relationship with it. Answering it made me dig through layers of emotions, and getting to my core hurt like hell. I barely survived the process, hence the hate part.” I took a deep breath, trying not to tense up from just talking about it. “But at least it explained why I did what I did. Now, I can avoid repeating the same mistakes, which is the love part.”
“I see.” She tapped her pencil softly on her pad. I don’t think she knew she had that habit. Luckily, she only did it when she talked. Otherwise, it would have driven me crazy. “How did you come to the conclusion that you don’t need therapy anymore?”
“Because I’m over Jack.” I leaned forward slightly. “The hell I endured was all his doing and none of mine. I no longer blame myself for what happened. Yes, I know I never should have taken him back after… after, well, you know. But I did. I wanted to believe that he still loved me. I should have listened to my gut, but I didn’t. Next time, I will.”
“You have been making progress over the past few sessions. Your depression has subsided. When you talk about moving, you seem sure that a fresh start will help you.”
“I am sure,” I said. “In New York, I can start over. It will be a clean slate.”
“Are you sure that there is nothing left for us to discuss?” she asked without tapping her pencil. It was her tell—she wanted me to open up further about the topic. I just wasn’t sure what she was getting at.
“I’ve rehashed my past. I’ve learned from it. I’ll never forget how Jack’s love had power over me. When he stopped being loving”—I shifted in my chair—“he turned out to be a monster.” I looked down and sighed deeply. “I was devastated.”
I remembered wishing my relationship with Jack had been a long-lasting romance. I had wanted Jack to desire me as he once did, even though I knew he never would. The depression-filled days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, until I didn’t want to see the light of another day.
Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat, interrupting my thoughts. I stopped staring at the carpet and looked at her. “Amber, please go on.”
“Why live without the warm embrace of someone who makes you feel like the most desirable person on earth? It didn’t seem like living at all, not really.”
For a moment, I remembered when I had reached my breaking point. I had been soaking in the bathtub when I experienced a gnawing temptation to use a razor blade to tear my flesh. I shivered as the memory faded. I looked into Mrs. Thompson’s eyes, seeing her instead of the horrible past.
“Continue,” she said, leaning forward.
“I gave him too much power. When he loved me, I was happy, but if he betrayed our love, then it felt like my life was over. Relying on his affection for my wellbeing was not wise.” I sighed. “It was a mistake.” I started to roll my eyes and tilted my chin toward the ceiling. “A huge one!”
“But you’ve learned from your past. That is what’s important.”
“True. I learned that you can be happy without being loved by a man. I’m frustrated that it took me so long to reach that conclusion, but what is done is done. There is nothing left to say about the past. The only thing left to do is move on.”
“Figuratively and literally,” she said, grinning.
“Exactly!”
She put the pad of paper and pencil on the small table next to her chair. “There is something we should talk about. It has more to do with the future than the past.” She raised her eyebrows.
My stomach clenched when I realized she was talking about me falling in love again. I wrapped my arms around my gut and breathed deeply, trying to relax.
“Do you think you can ever trust a man again? Ever love again?”
My right heel bounced up and down, tapping the carpet.
She continued. “In order to truly and completely move on, you need to be open to the possibility of falling in love again.”
I nodded. She was right, but I didn’t know when I’d be ready to love or trust someone again. But maybe I didn’t need to know when—perhaps I just had to know that I could be open to it someday. My foot stopped bouncing, and I rested my hands on the tops of my legs. “I’m happy just to be me, and finding someone someday, well… That would just be the icing on the cake.”
“You’d be open to the idea, then?”
“Eventually, yeah. I mean, I really like icing on my cake.” She chuckled softly as I continued. “Just cake is good, but I think everyone is happier with some icing. Don’t you think so?”
“I do. I must say, you seem to be the most well-adjusted client leaving my care.” She smiled. “It’s not what a person’s been through that defines them. It’s how they survive the ordeal that matters. You’ve gone from depressed, anxious, and timid to confident. You’re ready to start over.”
“I am, so I must say goodbye.” I got up and hugged her.
She responded with a light touch despite my firm one. I let go of her. “Sorry. I’m just so grateful.”
“It’s quite all right. I’m glad I could help. Good luck in New York, although I really don’t think you need luck. I think you’ll make your own success.”
“Thanks. I’ll send a postcard.”
She walked me to the door. “I’d like that.”
A tear of relief trickled down my cheek as I entered the waiting room. I wiped it away as I approached the secretary, ready to make my last payment to the office. With therapy over, I was one step closer to moving to New York City.
The vineyards of California weren’t the place for me anymore. Even though I was past the pain Jack caused, I didn’t need the scenery bringing back recollections of him. Moving to a new city was for the best. The memories of the heartbreak would fade. I would move to the hustle and bustle of New York with no guarantee that I’d survive after being accustomed to suburban life. The challenge was worth taking, though, because I could reinvent myself. It would be a fresh start. I hoped to adapt to city life and make new friends. I wanted to thrive and become established. If I could live in New York City for a year and not want to move back to California, I’d consider it my home. It was my only goal: move to Manhattan and make it my home.