Page 112 of Pucking Amazing

Dr. Carter leans forward, her kind eyes focused intently on me. “Sydney, it’s completely normal to have doubts after an abusive relationship. But don’t let Paul’s actions color your view of yourself and what you’re capable of.”

A lump forms in my throat.

She’s right, I realize with startling clarity. I’ve been letting Paul win, even now that he’s out of my life. By not believing in myself, not chasing my dreams, I’m still giving him power over me.

“You were following your passion when you went to medical school,” Dr. Carter continues gently. “Don’t let anyone, especially not Paul, take that away from you. It’s not too late to go back and finish a residency.”

Tears blur my vision as the truth of her words sinks in. “I want that,” I whisper hoarsely. “I want to help people, to do something meaningful. I just...I’m scared. What if I fail?”

Dr. Carter smiles and reaches for the box of tissues on the side table.

“Failure is a part of growth,” she says, handing me a tissue. “But I have a feeling you’re stronger than you realize, Sydney. Look how far you’ve already come.”

I dab at my eyes and manage a watery grin. “You know, I never thought I’d be the one on this side of the conversation,” I joke weakly.

She chuckles. “Oh, believe me, therapists need therapy more than anyone. We deal with a lot of heavy stuff in our line of work!”

I nod, breathing deeply as I regain my composure. She’s right—I’ve made so much progress already. Confronting my past, working through my trauma, rebuilding my sense of self.

I can do this. I will do this.

Pride blooms in my chest as I thank Dr. Carter and head out to my car. I’m taking care of myself, finally putting my needs first. It’s a good feeling.

But as soon as I slide into the driver’s seat, the tears flow freely again, years of pent-up pain and self-doubt pouring out of me. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and just let myself cry.

Thank God I have another appointment in two days, I think wryly as I turn the key in the ignition. This healing thing is hard work.

The cafe bustles with the chatter of lively conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The scent of freshly brewed espresso mingles with the warm aroma of buttery croissants. Golden sunlight streams through the windows, bathing our little corner table in a cozy glow.

Selena takes a sip of her oat milk latte, her bold red lipstick leaving a perfect imprint on the mug. “So Syd, how did your session go?”

She fixes me with her caring but intense gaze, false eyelashes fluttering.

I fiddle with my napkin, suddenly feeling exposed even in the anonymity of the crowded cafe. “It was good. Really good, actually. Dr. Carter helped me realize some things...”

Emma leans in, her blue eyes wide with interest. “Like what? Do tell!” She grins encouragingly.

I take a deep breath. “Like...maybe it’s time I stop letting other people dictate my life. Maybe it’s time to dig deep and remember what I want for myself and my career.”

“Hell yes!” Selena exclaims, earning a few startled glances from nearby tables. She lowers her voice. “It’s about time. Paul totally railroaded you.”

I wince at the mention of my ex’s name but nod. “Totally. And I’ve been thinking...what if I picked back up with my residency, completed my medical training? Finished what I started before everything with Paul.”

Emma clasps her hands together, practically bouncing in her seat. “Sydney, that’s amazing! You’d make an incredible practicing psychiatrist. Just think of all the people you could help, especially with your experience with addiction.”

Selena reaches over to squeeze my hand. “We’ll support you every step of the way, sis. Whatever you need.”

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. After feeling so lost, so disconnected from myself for so long, their unwavering faith in me is almost too much to handle.

Emma slides a napkin across the table with a wink. “No need to cry into your salad, though.”

After we finish eating the three of us pull out our laptops, planning on getting a few hours of work in. I don’t have any clear plans—being currently unemployed and all—but when I check my email, I can hardly believe my eyes.

My fingers hover frozen over the keyboard.

Could this actually be real? A second chance?

“Syd, what is it?” Selena asks, her voice tinged with curiosity. She and Emma both look up at me from across the cafe table.

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