She studies me quietly for a moment, placing the last of the utensils on the table before walking over.Her hands rest gently on my arms, and she offers a faint, weary smile.
“Cara, I want to come along with you when you see Matt today,” she says.
I look up at her, frowning.“Why?You don’t need to come.I can go on my own.”
“Ariana, sweetie, you’re not getting enough help because you’re not being completely honest with your therapist.”Her voice is calm but firm — and she’s right.She always knows.“You’ve become so pale and thin.I’m worried for you, cara.”
I sigh and sink into the chair, rubbing my forehead.“Mom...I can’t do it.I just can’t.I need a break.”
“Ariana,” she says gently, kneeling beside me, her hand resting on my knee.“You can tell me anything.”
I look down at her and feel myself begin to unravel.I should be smiling for her, showing her I’m healing.But instead, I fall apart right there.
“Come on, baby.You can trust me.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.“Mom...I don’t want to live anymore.”
“Would you like to talk about how you’re feeling today, Ariana?”
“No.”
I shake my head, slouching in the chair.Mom wanted to come with me — insisted, even — but I convinced her to let me go in alone.
Matt sits across from me, clipboard and pen in hand.When I answer, he looks at me for a moment, then quietly sets them aside and moves a little closer.
He’s young — early thirties, maybe — good-looking, calm, patient.I’ve known him for three years now.I can admit it freely: I wouldn’t be here without him.He’s the one who’s helped me hold myself together.
He once told me he was single.He’s about seven years older than me.Somehow, it feels safe that way.
“Oh?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.His eyes search my face, quietly studying every flicker of expression.I meet his gaze for a moment, biting my lip before looking away.
“Would you like to tell me why...you’re feeling that way?”he asks softly.
“I don’t know why.”I shrug, frowning as my throat tightens.“Matt, I’m sick and tired of this fear — this constant anxiety that he’s coming back.It’s been a whole year now, and I know what you’ll say: ‘look on the bright side.’And I do.I always do.”
My voice trembles, but I push through.“I did that this morning, when I opened my curtains.I told myself it’s a new day.But I can’t keep pretending that my crazy, psycho ex-fiancé isn’t out there somewhere, probably looking for me.And when he finds me, I’ll be dead — and you’ll never see me again.”
The words spill out in one breath before I finally sigh, exhausted.
“Ariana,” Matt says gently, “it’s okay not to be okay.It’s okay to be scared.And it’s okay to breathe...so, breathe.”
He places his hand lightly on my trembling knee, his voice steady, grounding.
“Matt, you’re so nice — and so calm,” I mutter, shaking my head.“How do you stay that calm?”
He smiles faintly.“I focus on what’s good in life.Speaking of which — let’s talk about Alessandro.Any progress?”
I pout and shake my head.Since Matt has been my therapist for years, he’s also become one of the few people who truly knows me — next to Mom.I’d told him about Alessandro early on; it was the only way my story made sense.
He knew why finding Alessandro mattered.He was the one who told me it might even help my healing — to search for the one person who once made me feel safe.He encouraged me to look, even helped when he could.But so far, there’d been nothing.I started my search in Italy, where we’d met, but soon realized Alessandro didn’t live there anymore.
“Not to worry!”Matt says brightly.“We have plenty of time.If you’d like, I can see you more than three times a week.”His cheerfulness coaxes a small smile out of me.
Then he tilts his head.“Ariana, can I ask you something?”
I raise a brow, lips twitching.“If you must, Matt.”
