A R A B E L L A ' S P . O. V
"So, how are you feeling today?" Our therapist, flips open her sketchbook, pen at the ready to scribe whatever bullshit I concocted this time.
I flashed her a sickly sweet grin. "Oh you know, just peachy."
"Arabella." Hardin reprimanded as though I was a child. However, I quickly began to sulk like one.
The therapy session we had scheduled today every other day lasted for an hour at least. They were the bane of my week, the thing I worked most hard to avoid.
Sitting down and talking about my feelings to a complete stranger whilst my husband watched, made me feel vulnerable and I hated it. Of course, Hardin loved it.
He spoke so freely about his emotions and how he's trying to cope with the loss of our son that I can't bare to let him do it alone.
