The psychologist's office was calm, almost eerily so. The beige walls were adorned with serene nature paintings, and the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence. Layla sat on the plush chair, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet. It was her third session, but she still felt out of place, as if admitting she needed help was some kind of defeat.
"You look under the weather today," Dr. Carter said gently, her pen poised over her notepad. "Are you feeling alright?"
Layla gave a weak smile and shrugged. "Caught a cold. It's nothing."
Dr. Carter tilted her head slightly, her gaze probing but kind. "Sometimes colds come from physical exposure, but sometimes they're connected to emotional exhaustion. Which do you think it is for you?"
Layla hesitated, debating how much to share. She fiddled with the edge of her sweater before finally sighing. "Last night, I went to the woodhouse. It's this little hideout my dad built for me near the woods when I was in middle school. Back when… back when things were okay."
Dr. Carter's pen paused. "What made you go there?"
Layla's throat tightened. She wasn't sure if she could put it into words. "I guess I just needed to feel close to that time again. When everything was… simple. Before the divorce. Before everything fell apart."
Dr. Carter nodded, her expression encouraging Layla to continue.
"It was raining," Layla admitted with a wry smile. "Not my brightest idea. But the woodhouse still stands, and I just sat there for hours. I felt like I could almost hear my dad's voice, telling me to be careful climbing up the ladder. Like he was still there, and we were still a family."
"That sounds like a bittersweet experience," Dr. Carter said. "What were you thinking about while you were there?"
Layla's gaze dropped to her lap. "I was thinking about his call. About what he said, how he and Mom weren't compatible. He said it like it's supposed to make everything make sense, but it doesn't. It just… it makes me feel like I was this afterthought in their decision. Like they didn't think about what it would do to me."
Dr. Carter leaned forward slightly, her voice soft. "That's a heavy feeling to carry, Layla. Did you tell your dad how you felt?"
Layla let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I told him. I asked if he even thought about me. If he considered how this would affect me. And he said all the usual things—that they didn't want to fight in front of me, that they thought this was for the best. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like they broke something that can't be fixed, and now I'm the one picking up the pieces."
"You've been carrying a lot on your shoulders," Dr. Carter said. "Do you think the woodhouse felt like a refuge for you because it's one of the few things from your past that hasn't changed?"
Layla nodded slowly, her fingers tightening on the edge of her sweater. "Yeah. It's like this little piece of the life I had before everything fell apart. I go there when it feels like too much. But last night, it didn't make me feel better. It just made me… miss it more."
Dr. Carter's expression remained steady, her voice soothing. "Missing what we've lost is natural, Layla. But it sounds like the woodhouse also reminded you of what you've managed to hold onto—your strength, your resilience. You went there because you needed to feel grounded, and even though it was painful, you're here now, talking about it. That's progress."
Layla's lips twitched into a faint smile. "It doesn't feel like progress."
"Progress often doesn't in the moment," Dr. Carter said. "But opening up about your feelings, facing them instead of shutting them out, is a step forward. How do you feel now, looking back on the conversation with your dad?"
Layla's brows furrowed. "I… don't know. Part of me feels bad for snapping at him. But another part of me is just angry. Like, if he really cared, why didn't he try harder to keep things together?"
"Anger is a valid emotion," Dr. Carter said. "It's a way of processing hurt. But it's also important to recognize that holding onto anger can weigh you down. Have you thought about what forgiveness might look like for you?"
Layla's jaw tightened. "I don't know if I can forgive him. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever."
Dr. Carter nodded. "That's okay. Forgiveness isn't something you have to rush. It's a process, and it starts with understanding your own feelings. For now, what do you think you need to feel a little lighter?"
Layla thought for a long moment. "I think I need to figure out what makes me happy… without them. Without trying to please them or make them proud. Just… for me."
Dr. Carter's smile was warm. "That's a beautiful realization, Layla. And it's a great place to start. We can work on that together."
Layla left the session feeling emotionally drained but lighter somehow. The weight of her father's words still lingered, but they didn't feel as suffocating. As she walked out of the office and into the cool evening air, she took a deep breath, the crispness of it filling her lungs. Maybe things weren't okay yet, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like they could be.