“Thomas, you’re extremely smart. You can answer my question without us having to discuss him.”

“You’re way smarter than I am, so you can probably gather that whatever plan I had in mind involved your son, and it’s too fucking weird to tell you,” I said, looking away.

“You’d started making plans, then.”

I nodded.

“How did that feel?”

“Doesn’t matter how it felt. It’s not happening,” I told her, mid-puff.

“Why not?”

“I’m pretty sure I gave you a Marlboro, right? Did I mix them up?” I pretended to search my backpack.

“This is your last session, Thomas. There’s no reason for things not to go back to how they were.”

“Going back isn’t an option,” I said, making sure I could do it with as much confidence as I could possibly muster.

“Why not?”

“It’s been months.”

“Yet I don’t think that matters, does it? At least not to you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You still blush every time we talk about it.”

I couldn’t help but sigh. “See, I can’t have you say those things. You’re his mom.”

“And I would really like to talk to you—as his mom—just as soon as we end our professional relationship.”

“Now, that just terrifies me,” I said, making her laugh.

“Let’s go back to talking about change, then.”

“Awesome.”

“What’s the biggest change you’ve experienced? The biggest one you’ve noticed?”

“Aside from my hair?”

“I…yes.” She humored me.

“I think I—I’m not hiding anymore.”

“From what?”

“Pain? My relationship with it has changed the most, I think.”

“How, exactly?”

“After Liam, I—I didn’t think I’d be able to bear it. So, I hid from it, and when I couldn’t do that, I tried to make it go away.”

“And now?”

“I don’t think I can say.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, you don’t unders—”

“I know what you meant, Thomas,” she said seriously. “You can.”

“I don’t want to hide from it this time.”

“Why not?”

“I chose this pain. It’s mine. It hurts like hell, but I’m not afraid of it.”

“Because you know it’ll pass?”

“No,” I was quick to say.

“No?” she repeated, intrigued.

“I don’t know that it will,” I told her, putting out my cigarette. “That’s not it anyway.”

“Then, why?”

“It only hurts because of how much I felt. And it was… To wish it to go away would mean regretting it. And I don’t regret a single thing.”

“And this reminder,” she said. “Isn’t it too much, like some other things?”

“Yes. But it’s all I have.”

“Thomas.”

“I don’t want to not feel it. I think that’s the bottom line. I don’t need it to go away.”

“Isn’t that sad?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “It’s still mine.”