I grab my phone and dial the number Dylan gave me for his sister’s therapist.
It rings once. Twice. I almost change my mind and hang up. “Hello, Jane speaking.”
“Hi, this is Jenna. I wanted to ask about setting up an appointment.”
Her voice is soft and calm. “Of course. Can you tell me what type of support you’re looking for?”
Fuck. What kind of question is that? Is this what I’m signing up for? Endless questions in therapy for an hour?
This is a bad idea.
“I know. It’s a tough question,” she says gently. “Let’s start small. Tell me one thing weighing on you. No pressure. Stop anytime.”
I suck in a breath. Where do I begin?
“I’m haunted by nightmares that make me feel like I’m losing my mind. My father left me a legacy of abandonment issues. I feel like I’ve been stuck for years, frozen in a marriage whereI can’t decide whether to stay or leave. I ended a relationship with a man who made me feel incredible, a man who isn’t my husband. And even though I know it’s over—and probably for the best—I can’t stop obsessing over him.”
I let out a deep breath.Shit, this girl is good.
“The cherry on top? I think I’m cursed, and the universe is punishing me. So good luck trying to help me!” I laugh, even though nothing about this is funny.
The line goes quiet before she answers, her voice calm but firm. “That’s some heavy stuff, Jenna. I’m not going to feed you some bullshit lines like ‘everything happens for a reason.’ Your situation sucks. Period. But no one should have to go through that alone.”
“Wait, are therapists even allowed to swear?” I let out a dry laugh, oddly comforted.
“As long as you’re okay with it, then yes. I want this to be a place unfiltered. Real. And I’m not here to ‘fix’ you, because you’re not something beyond repair. But I can give you tools, and we'll figure this out together like a team. Make sense?”
I give a small nod, even if she can’t see me. Then she offers simple suggestions. Breathing and grounding exercises. Journaling. Mindfulness meditation.
When we end the call, I follow her advice. I take a pad of paper out to the balcony, where humid air clings to my skin and the sun glows over a calm ocean. And I begin to dump the noise in my head onto paper. I write and I write and I write until the ink smears with my salty tears.
Dear Universe, God… Whoever is listening,
I’m asking—no, begging. Give me guidance. Clarity. Strength. Anything.It feels like there’s a monster living inside me, tearing me apart. But I can’t keep hiding from it. My marriage is a ticking time bomb. I never know when it’ll detonate. I can hear it in the silence, in every argument, every word I don’t say.
And I think I gave up on us a long time ago. Maybe it wasn’t a conscious decision, but somewhere along the way, I stopped believing things could ever change. I shut down completely. Now, I don’t even know how to find my way back. I’m frozen. Stuck between a past I don’t want and a future I can’t see. Unable to move forward. Too exhausted to look back.
The more we argue, the quieter I get, and the war inside me grows louder. And I’m losing the battle. I can’t fight anymore. I can’t breathe.
And now I’ve lost Dylan too. I don’t know how to stop missing him. I just… I don’t know how to move. Please, someone kick me in the ass and help me move forward.
I stare at my words, the mess inside my mind, on the outside for me to see. They don’t fix anything. But somehow, they make me feel like there is hope.
Chapter 33: Healing & Feeling
Jenna: April
The last few months without Dylan, I clung to Izzy’s advice like my life depended on it. Stay busy. Focus on my business. Do the work in therapy for myself and with Jacob. But sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one trying. Jacob barely participates, or he’s too busy twisting the truth to hear anything. Still, at least he shows up.
Jenna’s Dream Eventsis growing—websites, social media, bookings. Everything’s falling into place, and it gave me the confidence to finally quit my job without any drama. Some new girl replaced my position like I was never there.
I should be proud of everything I’ve done. And mostly, I am. But sometimes I wonder if I’m just distracting myself from everything else. In therapy, there are no distractions. Every session forces me to confront things I thought I’d buried, aboutmy father, Ryan’s abuse, even the way I lose myself in people who claim to love me.
I squirm uncomfortably on Jane’s couch, squeezing the ‘fuck it stress ball’ she has in her office, struggling to make sense of my tangled thoughts.
“Jenna,” she says softly. “Talk to me.”
I freeze. I hate this part. The silence and the unbearable pause where she waits for me to speak. But I feel like I might shatter. And I’m not ready to talk about Dylan. Not yet. Not when he isn’t a part of my life anymore.
