“I can’t be your therapist anymore.” She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I’ve recently found out something. Something that makes it impossible for us to continue our relationship, such as it is now.”

“What did you find? Was it something I did?”

“No.” She leaned forward. “I told you; you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then what? I’m not ready. You know I’m not ready—”

“Not to stop therapy, not yet. Although, you are close.”

“Well, fuck me. I’m confused,” I finally said, making her laugh.

“I have a friend, Dr. Sydney Lott. She has agreed to take you on as soon as her schedule allows—”

“Wait, I don’t get it—”

“She is very good. One of the best.”

“I don’t care. What the fuck is going on?”

“There’s…there’s a conflict of interest that I was made aware of recently—this morning, in fact—and I am ethically bound to terminate our relationship as doctor and patient.”

“Stop talking like a fucking robot! You know better than to just—”

“Thomas.”

“I’m sorry, but come on!” I said, frustrated as hell.

She leaned over on her chair, resting her arms on her knees and interlocking her fingers. “This morning, when I came downstairs, my son had made me breakfast.”

“O-kay,” I said slowly.

The fucking tangents this woman could sometimes go on were so maddening.

“You can’t possibly know this,” she said, hesitating just as she finished her sentence, as though regretting what she’d just said. “But…we’ve been trying to do a better job at connecting.”

I kept looking at her, wondering when she’d get back to the conflict-of-interest bit.

“I was surprised to find he wanted to tell me something. To confide in me,” she said. “He’s never done that.”

“Well, that’s good,” I said quietly, making her smile.

“He wanted to tell me about why he was feeling so happy lately. Said he was ready to talk about how he had found someone.”

I furrowed my brow, starting to get a sinking feeling, and I wasn’t quite sure as to why yet.

“As it turns out, he’s fallen for someone,” she said.

I leaned forward on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees and covering my mouth with both hands.

“He met another boy in school,” she said. “His name is…Thomas.”

I couldn’t help but close my eyes.

“If I had known sooner, I would’ve—” She stopped talking as I started to shake my head slowly. “My son is Ethan Cooper, Thomas.”

I lowered my head, letting my hair fall forward as I hid my face behind my hands.

“Thomas—”

“Your son?”

Dr. Foster said nothing.

“Your son,” I repeated.

“Thomas—” She tried touching my arm, but I flinched.

“I need to leave,” I said, mindlessly reaching for my bag and standing up, averting my eyes and hoping I wouldn’t have to keep talking.