Dr. Watkins folds his hands, nodding thoughtfully. “Kerry, have you ever heard the phrase ‘just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s wrong’?”

I blink, unsure where he’s going with this. “Yeah…”

“What you had with Cory was wrong. It was unhealthy. It was abusive. So, of course, what you have with Vic feels different. Of course, it feels strange, even scary. You’re not used to being treated well. You’re not used to being wanted for the right reasons. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.” He pauses. “And it definitely doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

My throat tightens, and my hands curl into my lap.

“But what if it’s just for—”

“Safety? Comfort? Convenience?” Dr. Watkins tilts his head, his voice gentle but firm. “Love should make you feel safe. Love should give you comfort. Love should give you the convenience of being yourself without fear. Love should be a refuge, a place where you are seen, heard, and cherished exactly as you are. Let me ask you this, when you think of Vic, see him with his daughters, hear his voice, when you’re in his space… do you feel love?”

The question hits me so hard that I nearly stop breathing. Because I know the answer.

Dr. Watkins smiles knowingly. “See? Your heart already knows the truth. The real question is, are you going to let your fears dictate your future happiness?”

I look away, my voice small. “I don’t want to, but what if I get hurt?”

“Then, at least you got to love. At least you got to experience something good. Something healthy. Don’t let fear make choices for you, Kerry.”

After my therapy session, I feel more confident about my feelings, and I’m ready to accept something different, something healthy, something right.

So, I decide to text Vic. No more second-guessing. No more pushing my feelings aside. It’s time to put myself first—my wants, my desires, my happiness. A love for myself. And maybe… a love with him.

Vic, we need to talk. I can’t fake this anymore.

I hit send. And then I wait. And wait.

And an hour later, my phone finally rings, and relief floods through me. But when I glance at the screen, my stomach sinks. It’s not Vic. It’s Vicky.

I groan, answering. “Hi, Vicky. I’m off on weekends. What’s up?”

She sighs so hard into the phone I swear I feel the breeze. “It’s Vic.”

I sit up, immediately on edge. “What happened?”

“The producers called him in for a reshoot, and he lost his damn mind. We’re at the studio, and he’s being beyond difficult. Won’t cooperate, won’t listen, won’t even let Krista do her job. And he refuses to smile on camera. He’s miserable, Kerry.”