Page 144 of When Hearts Surrender

As if I can’t see her. As if she isn’t the brightest beacon in this room, the beam of the lighthouse guiding my ship to shore in the turbulent seas.

I think back to what Dr. Lin told me in our meeting yesterday.

“We’ll assemble a team for your treatment—talk therapy and medication,” Dr. Lin concluded as she left me with a prescription of SSRIs, which would slowly take effect after a few weeks and benzodiazepines for panic attacks. We also had the next three appointments scheduled.

It isn’t a magical bandage, no snap of the fingers to make everything go away.

But it’s a start.

“Mr. Anderson! Are you here to support your wife?”

“There are rumors you’ve moved out of the estate. Is your marriage on the rocks?”

“An unnamed source told us you were in a car crash a few nights ago. Do you have any comment?”

Their questions are endless, bullets fired from an automatic weapon, as reporters converge around me, their phones thrusted into my face. But my eyes are only on her, my Belle, watching her throat rippling as emotions cloud her startling eyes.

While the beginning of an anxiety attack threatens to smother me, maybe because of the medication I took beforehand or the fact I’m making a choice to fight my inner demons, I’m able to keep the panic attack at bay.

I won’t let it win this time.

“We came across a divorce filing. Is it true? Are you getting a divorce?”

Shocked gasps erupt from the crowd as more questions are thrown at me, the chaos adding to the rioting pulse hammering in my ears.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and count to five before exhaling to a count of eight and repeat the process. Dr. Lin told me longer exhales than inhales help calm the nervous system. I rub my heirloom ring, focusing on the sharp corners and gilded edges.

I’m calm. I’m at peace. I accept myself.

This time, the affirmations finally feel true, not just lip service I’ve been giving myself all these years.

My eyes flutter open and I hold up my hand. I fix my gaze on Belle as she clasps a hand over her mouth.

“I-I want to say s-something,” I murmur, but the crowd doesn’t hear me.

More questions. More lights. More noises.

Heat rushes up my spine, my lungs working in overdrive, the dark monster looming before me again.

Not today.

“Be quiet! I want to say something!” I roar.

The room abruptly silences, clearly shocked at my outburst. I hear the furtive clicking of shutters and my heavy breathing.

“T-Thank you,” I murmur. I stare at Belle as my next words tumble out of my lips. “I haven’t been honest with you all.”

More scratching of pens on paper as reporters take notes.

“When I first married my wife, it was done as a ruse to calm the media circus regarding my failed press conference. It was primarily a publicity stunt.”

A few people gasp and raise their hands. Belle’s eyes widen. Grace holds her hand in support.

I shake my head. “I’m not done. The truth is…” I tear my gaze away from the love of my life and stare into the eyes of the reporters in front of me, reminding myself they are human, just like me. Not monsters. “I have severe, debilitating, social anxiety. It prevents me from making speeches and it’s also why I avoid crowds.”

More murmurs erupt from the crowd, and I smell the headlines tomorrow.

“I don’t care what you say or write about me tomorrow.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “I’m not ashamed because it’s just a medical condition many people deal with…like diabetes or heart disease. I only regret not treating it sooner and allowing it to rule my life for so long.”

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