She waits, giving me space. I can feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck. Part of me wants to deflect, make a joke, change the subject. But I know it's time to say it out loud.
"There was a fire." My voice drops lower. "In our apartment."
The memory rises up, vivid and terrible. The smoke. The heat. The panic.
"My parents were out. They did that a lot—left us alone while they went drinking or whatever. We were supposed to be asleep, but Teddy and I were playing with these toy cars he got for his birthday."
I stop, my throat closing up. Elena doesn't push, just watches me with those steady eyes.
"I found matches sitting out on the coffee table. My parents both smoked. I was just... curious, I guess. Wanted to see what would happen."
My hands are suddenly cold, despite the warmth of the room. I rub them against my jeans, trying to warm them up.
"The curtain caught fire so fast. One second it was just this tiny flame, and the next..." I swallow hard. "Teddy tried to put it out. Told me to go get help. But I was scared and I couldn’t move. By the time I snapped out of it, the whole room was burning."
Elena looks at me with disbelief.
"I ran out, thinking Teddy was behind me." My voice cracks. "He wasn't. He was still trying to put the fire out, I guess."
The silence fills with the weight of what I'm not saying—the guilt, the horror, the life-shattering moment when I realized my brother wasn't coming out.
"The neighbors called 911. Fire department came. They got him out, but it was too late. Smoke inhalation, they said."
I can still see my parents' faces when they arrived home. The shock. The disbelief. The accusation.
"My mom..." I pause, steadying myself. "She looked at me like she didn't know me. Like I was some monster who took her son away. My dad couldn't even look at me at all."
"They blamed you." It's not a question.
"Yeah." I rub my face, suddenly exhausted. "They said it was my fault. That I killed Teddy. And they were right."
"Nate." Elena's voice is gentle but firm. "You were six years old. Children that age don't understand consequences like adults do. Your parents left dangerous items accessible and two young children unsupervised. That responsibility falls on them, not you."
Her words should comfort me, but they don't. They just scrape against the guilt I've carried for over twenty years.
"After that, everything changed. Dad drank even more than usual. Mom checked out—physically there but gone inside. When they bothered to notice me at all, it was just to remind me what I'd done."
"That's a tremendous burden for a child to carry."
I shrug. "I got used to it."
"Did you?" Her question is soft, probing.
"Had to. I figured out nobody was going to stick around. Not family, not friends, nobody. So I stopped letting people get close." I look directly at her. "It was easier that way."
"Is it still easier?"
The question hangs between us. I think about the women I've walked away from, the teams I've burned bridges with, the reputation I've cultivated. The carefully constructed walls that keep everyone at a safe distance.
"Used to be." The admission surprises even me.
Something flickers in her eyes—understanding, maybe. Or something more.
"After Teddy died, I stopped believing in... everything." The words feel raw. "Family. Stability. Love. All of it. Just seemed like a setup, you know? Something they sell you in movies that doesn't exist in real life."
I've never told anyone this before—not friends, not previous therapists, not women I've been with.
"Your early experiences taught you that attachment leads to pain." Elena's voice is measured. "That's a protective mechanism, like we discussed before."
