Declan sat in a black leather recliner, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. He appeared depressed, with his shirt untucked and his hair unruly. He raised his head and looked across the table at the person wearing black-rimmed glasses.
"What should I do?" he asked, helplessly. "I hate to suspect her, but I can't help myself. Is she going to be like my mother?"
"First, stop comparing her with your mother," the man said calmly. "Spend time with her and get to know her. Ask her if she is happy with you. And don't let this suspicion grow. You have to do it if you want to get rid of your nightmares." He jotted down something on the prescription pad before tearing the page. "The medications will temporarily relieve your anxiety." He pushed the page towards him. "You must stop thinking negatively."
