BOUND BY THE SESSION

Chapter 7 | New Roots, Old Shadows

Leona’s POV

Saturday morning broke with a strange kind of hope wrapped in exhaustion. Moving day had finally arrived, and despite the ache in my limbs and the fog in my mind, I forced myself out of bed.

Chris and Marion met me bright and early, their smiles steady and solid a contrast to my jittery nerves. Boxes stacked high, we loaded everything into Marion’s car with practiced efficiency. The gentle clunk of cardboard against the vehicle’s trunk felt like a small victory, like I was finally putting the past in its place.

The ride to Marion’s neighborhood was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles into your bones and soothes the jagged edges of fear. Her house came into view: a white two-story with clean lines and a welcoming porch, the kind of place I’d dreamed about as a kid in foster care, tucked away in nightmares that sometimes felt too real.

“Home sweet home,” Marion said with a grin as we pulled into the driveway. “Your room’s ready.”

Inside, the scent of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around me like a warm blanket. It was instantly comforting.

She led us upstairs to a soft gray room that looked out over a small, blooming garden something alive and growing. A twin bed stood neatly made, a desk sat waiting for my clutter, and an empty bookshelf promised a future filled with stories.

“It’s not much,” Marion said, suddenly unsure. “But it’s quiet. The bathroom’s just across the hall, and the kitchen’s all yours.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, meaning every word.

Chris set down a box and nodded appreciatively. “Nice place. Air’s cleaner too.”

We got to work unpacking, slipping my clothes into drawers and stacking books on the shelf. Marion disappeared downstairs to whip up some lunch, and Chris stayed behind, folding the last of my shirts with gentle care.

For the first time in ages, I felt safe. No jangling keys unlocking doors, no footsteps I dreaded, no shadows lurking just out of sight.

“You look like you belong here,” Chris said softly.

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” I whispered, half to myself.

“It will,” he promised, his hand resting on my shoulder for a brief, grounding moment. “Give it time.”

By late afternoon, I was officially moved in. My things were in place, the chaos of the last week tucked neatly away with the boxes emptied and stowed. Chris had left to fix a leaky faucet in apartment 3B, so the house was quiet again except for the soft hum of Marion moving around downstairs.

“You should rest,” she said, spotting the way I swayed slightly with exhaustion. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

But the thought of lying down and being alone with my thoughts made my chest tighten.

“Actually, I was thinking about grabbing an early dinner.”

“I haven’t had proper food in days…” I trailed off, swallowing.

Marion smiled kindly. “I could cook something—”

“You’ve done enough,” I cut in gently. “I think I need some air. There’s that little bistro on Maple Street, right? The one with the really good pasta?”

“Sophia’s?” Marion asked, hesitating just a moment. “It’s about a twenty-minute walk. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine.” I managed a small smile. “I won’t be long.”

She fished a spare key out of the drawer by the front door and handed it to me. “Take this, just in case.”

“Thanks,” I said before stepping out into the cool evening air.

Walking through the neighborhood felt like stepping into a different world. Cherry trees lined the sidewalks, their delicate pink blossoms just beginning to burst open like tiny fireworks. Kids played in yards, their laughter ringing bright and free in a way I hadn’t heard in years.

Normal life. Ordinary happiness. Things I’d always thought were meant for someone else.

Sophia’s Bistro sat cozy on a street corner, its windows glowing golden against the fading sky. The menu posted outside promised comforting Italian food, exactly what I needed.

My stomach growled at the thought, and I slipped inside, taking a seat near the window. I was busy studying the pasta options when a voice cut through the mellow buzz of the restaurant and tightened something in my chest.

“I completely agree. The parallels to Jung’s work are unmistakable.”

Dr. Volkov.

Here. In this random neighborhood spot. Far from his office, from the sterile walls of his therapy room.

I scanned the restaurant quietly until I found him a few tables away in the far corner, seated across from a woman I didn’t recognize.

He wore a dark sweater that clung to his broad shoulders, his posture relaxed yet undeniably commanding. But it wasn’t just his presence that made my heart stutter it was the woman sitting opposite him.

She was stunning in a way that made other women self-conscious. Blonde waves fell perfectly around her shoulders, and she wore a cream blouse that looked effortlessly elegant. A red coat hung from the back of her chair, matching the bold crimson of her lipstick.

They laughed softly at something he said, and she reached across the table, touching his hand with a familiarity that twisted my stomach into knots.

I ducked my head, foolishly afraid he might notice me or read the confusion swirling in my eyes.

“Ready to order?”

The server’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

“Um, just the margherita pasta, please. And water.”

Once she left, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances at their table.

They were deep in conversation, his head tilted toward hers, listening with that intense focus I’d come to recognize. She gestured confidently as she spoke, animated and sure.

A colleague, I told myself. Nothing more.

Still, the pang of jealousy and confusion lingered like a bitter aftertaste.

This was ridiculous. He was my therapist. That’s it.

I pushed my food around on the plate, appetite gone, and tried to appear casual.

“…an absolutely fascinating case study…” Their voices drifted over. They were talking work, after all.

Relief softened the tightness in my chest just enough for me to breathe.

I hadn’t noticed the shadow until it stretched over my table.

“Leona.”

His voice, low and familiar, sent a shiver down my spine.

I looked up, face flushing.

“Dr. Volkov. Hi…”

His amber eyes held mine, intense yet warmer than usual.

“I thought I recognized you.”

“How are you doing? You moved today, right?”

“Yeah,” I managed. “This morning.”

“And how did it go?” His gaze flicked briefly to the faint mark on my cheek.

“Fine. My boss Marion’s been great. Chris helped with the heavy lifting.”

His eyes sharpened for a second at the mention of Chris, then softened so quickly I almost thought I imagined it.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He glanced back at the woman, who was now watching us with clear interest.

“Are you here alone?”

I nodded, suddenly self-conscious about sitting by myself.

“Would you like to join us?” he offered. “Dr. Keller is a colleague from the university. We’re discussing a research paper.”