Page 42 of The Unraveling

I nod.

To his credit, other than a few blinks, he manages to not display judgment. He somehow maintains his even-keel tone, too.

“Tell me how this came about?”

I babble for a few minutes, explaining how shocked I was when he walked in. That it was a complete surprise. Not my doing. How I jumped into therapist mode and took a history, asked the usual questions, because I had no idea how to handle it. How to act.

“So you’ve only seen him once?”

I swallow and shake my head.

“Okay. Well, I would imagine you were thrown for a loop when he walked in that first time. It sounds like you panicked and handled it to avoid confrontation. But why did you see him the second time? It would have been simple enough to have your assistant call and say your caseload is too heavy or you think he would do better with a different therapist.”

I look away, finding the tree outside the window that I’ve already become acquainted with. After some thought, I shake my head. “At first, I couldn’t believe it was a coincidence that he was sitting in my office. I mean, what are the chances that the man that my husband—that we…” I take a deep breath. “That Gabriel Wright wandered into my office. There are four thousand psychiatrists in New York State. I looked it up the other day. If forty-three percent of the population of the state lives in the city, it stands to reason that seventeen hundred psychiatrists might be here. And Gabriel walked into my practice. On the first day I returned to work? Even if I put the accident aside, this is still a man I followed on a daily basis for quite some time. I even ran into him once.”

“It does sound like an awful lot of happenstance. But I take it you’ve ruled out anything sinister going on, since you said ‘At first, I couldn’t believe it was a coincidence.’ ”

I nod. “He’d have to be a sociopath to deliver such a compelling monologue in therapy. Gabriel Wright is just a broken man seeking help, who happens to have seen one of my advertisements, and my office happens to be not too far from where he lives.”

“Why haven’t you referred him to someone else?”

“Because I really think I can help him. Isn’t it the least I can do when it’s partially my fault his life is ruined?”

Dr. Alexander purses his lips. “You’re justifying, Meredith. You have to know you’ve crossed a line with this. Following is one thing, but treating a man you have a serious personal connection with, without him knowing your true identity… It’s not ethical.”

I sigh. “Then I probably shouldn’t tell you I also find myself a little attracted to him.”

That does it. I have broken the ever-composed Dr. Alexander. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

I frown. “I’ve disappointed you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m concerned for you. Both professionally and as a patient.” He fits his glasses back onto his nose and leans forward, elbows on knees. “I don’t have to tell you that there’s a reason the Medical Code of Ethics bars physicians from having certain types of relationships with patients. Patients, especially mental health patients, come to us in very vulnerable states. Having any type of outside relationship that involves emotions can impair your judgment. You’re playing with fire, Meredith. And that’s just on a professional level. As your doctor, my concerns for what this could do to your own mental health are grave. It must be devastating for you to listen to how this man’s life was ruined by the actions of your husband. Why would you subject yourself to this?”

My throat swells tight, like there’s only a pinhole for air to travel through. I swallow a few times, attempting to ward off the sharp sting of tears. But it’s no use. They spill over and stream down my face.

Dr. Alexander reaches for the tissue box and holds it out to me. “I’m sorry if I was harsh. I’m usually more restrained. But as a colleague, I feel a sense of obligation to remind you of the consequences.”

I sniffle and blot my eyes. “There’s no apology necessary. You’re right. You’re absolutely right. And I needed to hear it.” I take a minute to compose myself. “You asked why I would subject myself to something that will cause me pain. It’s because I deserve it.”

Dr. Alexander’s face softens. “Let’s start there today…”

CHAPTER 17 Now

Screen time average this week: 4 hours and 16 minutes per day.

“Go away,” I mutter, swiping the notification so it disappears. I’m well aware of the ridiculous amount of time I’ve spent on my phone. And I’m also aware that 90 percent of it has been on this dating app. It’s how I’ve distracted myself since my appointment with Dr. Alexander last week.

For once, though, at least my time is occupied by something other than Gabriel. I’ve started chatting with someone new. Someone I find interesting, even. That’s a good thing. I should embrace that, and I do, typing a message to Robert, whom I swiped right on two days ago. When you swipe right for a guy—and he swipes right for you, too—a heart explodes across the screen, tiny hearts coming down like snowflakes. Then you have the option to message them. To reach out.

In a moment of weakness—or desperation—or maybe it was the three glasses of sauvignon blanc—I’d typed out a message and hit send. He’d typed back immediately. And now we can’t stop.

My heart beats faster for a reason other than something to do with Gabriel Wright. My thoughts turn warm and fuzzy when a notification tells me Robert has sent me a new message. For the first time since the last time you told me you loved me and really meant it, I feel wanted. Which now, I realize, I’ve missed.

I tap out another message to Robert—add an emoji, then delete it, because maybe that’s old-school? Do people still use emojis?

I haven’t texted a man regularly in ages.

“Excuse me, Meredith?” My office door cracks open, Sarah peering through it.

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