CHAPTER 12
1331 Words
LILLIAN
I can’t believe I have to sit through another session with two men who both manage to get on my nerves.
Vivian kept asking me what Ronan said the other night, but I kept brushing her off, telling her it was nothing. She didn’t believe me; I could see it written all over her face, but I didn’t care. Instead, I let everything weigh on me like I was strapped in chains that dragged me down with every breath.
If praying could stop whatever was happening between Ronan and me, I would have dropped to my knees already. But something deep inside me kept whispering this wasn’t over yet—that it was just the beginning, and I hate how that feeling makes me uneasy.
Then Joe texted me this morning. He said our counselor was finally back from his trip, and there had been an email about it. An email I never got. He also mentioned he’d be late, and told me I could start the session without him. Like that made things easier. Like being stuck in the room with the man I’ve been hoping to ignore wasn’t its own kind of torture.
I had hours to kill before counseling. Meeting. Lunch. Acting like my life was normal. Acting like I was normal.
I had a mountain of work waiting, thanks to the series of events coming up. As soon as I stepped into the office, it was buzzing—phones ringing, people rushing past with papers and coffee in their hands.
“Morning, Mrs. Blackwell,” my assistant Whitney said as she hurried to my side with a stack of files. Her face beamed with a wide smile, the kind that made it clear she was glad to see me and relieved to have a brief escape from the chaos swirling through the office.
“Morning,” I said with a soft smile, falling into step beside her as we headed toward the conference room.
Inside, my team was already waiting. Charts covered the table, and the whiteboard was full of magazine covers lined with red strings, numbers, and notes. They launched into updates—clients, progress, projection. I nodded, added a few thoughts when I had to, but my mind kept drifting.
At one point, Whitney leaned in, lowering her voice. “You seem distracted. Everything okay?”
I blinked at her, forcing myself back into the moment. “Just didn’t sleep much,” I muttered, fingers tapping restlessly against the table.
The meeting wrapped up with handshakes and promises of further development, and as everyone filled out, I stayed behind for a moment, staring at the magazines and numbers on the board until they blurred together.
Lunch with Vivian was supposed to feel like a break, our ritual. She was already waiting at our favorite spot, sunglasses on the table as she took in the scenery of the diner. She smiled when she saw me, but the moment our eyes met, her smile faltered, her features laced with concern.
“You look drained,” she said as soon as I sat down. She reached across the table and gave my hand a soft squeeze. “And don’t tell me it’s just because you didn’t sleep.”
I sighed, leaning back. “You don’t let up, do you?”
“Not with you,” she said, soft but firm.
She ordered her usual—salad and water—while I went for a burger, fries, and a Sprite. I needed it. She filled the air with chatter about her latest shoot with Elle magazine and how badly she’d needed this break. I nodded along, grateful for the noise, but when her words trailed off, she leaned closer.
“You still haven’t told me what Ronan said.”
The burger stalled halfway to my mouth before I set it down on the tray. My gaze dropped to my glass of Sprite, fingers tracing the rim as if the answers might surface there. “Because it wasn’t important,” I said.
Her brows pulled together. “Not important? Lillian. Did you see your face that night?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I don’t know why I keep forgetting how much she sees through me. My throat tightened, and I whispered, “Can we not do this right now?”
She studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. But you know I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”
Relief washed over me, though it was thin. Sometimes it was easier to carry the weight of my own actions alone, without dragging anyone else into it.
And this was one of those times.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
By the time I reached the counselor’s office, my nerves were already stretched thin. His assistant waved me in—he was waiting. The room smelled exactly like I remembered; cedar laced with a faint trace of the ocean.
He wasn’t there when I entered. I sank into the three-seater, clutching my phone in my hand, not knowing what to expect. Where was he?
Minutes later, a side door opened, and even before I looked up, I knew.
Ronan.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” he greeted warmly as he stepped through, with the same notepad he had the last time tucked under his arm. His voice was calm—too calm, it made me uncomfortable. He slid into the chair across from me with an ease that made my skin crawl.
“Good afternoon,” I managed, my voice coming out hoarse, tighter than I wanted it to.
He set the notepad on his lap and flipped it open. “It’s been a few days. How have you and your husband been managing?”
I forced a smile. “We’re… managing.”
He lifted his gaze, and regret hit me instantly. I hated the smug look on his face—hated even more that I was the one who’d put it there. Still, I forced myself to stay
professional and neutral.
His brow lifted slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Managing,” he echoed. “Not very convincing.”
I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs, arms folding over my chest. “Marriage isn’t supposed to be convincing. It’s supposed to be private.”
“Private, yes. But not hidden.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Do you feel like you’re hiding things from your husband?”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me. I know it, and I won’t let him.
I let out a brittle laugh, shaking my head. “We all hide things, don’t we?” It’s called survival.”
He studied me, and the silence between us stretched thin, giving my stomach an unsettling feeling. I hated that calm look on his face. Hated how he sat there, acting normal while I was barely holding myself together.
“I get the sense,” he said finally, his tone softer now, “that you’re carrying more than you're saying. That this is more than you keep putting out to be.”
My fingers tapped against my thighs, restless and fast. How dare he?“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just reading into things that aren’t there.”
His gaze held mine, and I felt heat crawl up my neck. The room suddenly felt so heavy.
“Who are you?”
“What do you mean by that… ‘who am I’?”
He ran his hand over his face. “Come on, are you listening to yourself? It’s like you don’t know who you are again.”
My throat suddenly felt so dry and my chest grew so tight, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. What the hell just happened?
The door opened, making me jump in my seat.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Joe’s voice cut through the tension hanging in the room.
Ronan leaned back, closing his book. “No problem. We were just getting started.”
- Writer
