Page 40 of Julian's Curse

“I’ll leave the room for 30 minutes,” she said softly. “I know this may not be what you were expecting, but I’d like you tosit here and write whatever you feel when you think of Julian’s addiction. Even if it means you leave the page blank, that’s still an emotion.”

I nodded peacefully. I knew what she was getting at. She was trying to get me to write again for another reason than to make a living. For the same reasons that artists did. Write to purge emotions, and to feel alive.

“We’ll read it together afterward,” she continued, her tone gentle. “And I’ll spend an extra 30 minutes talking through it with you. You have the time, right?” She smiled, her eyes warm with reassurance.

“Plenty,” I murmured. In truth, I had the whole weekend ahead of me to wallow in loneliness, then bury myself in work to escape it. But for now, I could spare the extra time here, in the company of someone who genuinely liked me. Mrs. Followay let me be whoever I was, and then she nurtured that with a kind of patience I hadn’t known before. For her it wasn’t just a profession, it was a calling. I knew her ultimate dream was to work with children, and in a way, that was serving her well with me. There was still a childish part of me that needed therapy—someone who craved understanding, guidance, and care in ways that felt almost childlike. Mrs. Followay seemed to instinctively recognize that, and she never made me feel ashamed of it.

The days without Julian were starting to blur together, like something out of a Christmas movie where Bill Murray keeps reliving the same day over and over. I’d get up, make a strong coffee or two, and head to the office—where part of my day was spent wondering if my friendship with Valentina had come to an end. I hadn’t heard from Bradley or her, but maybe that was for the best. It gave me the time and space I needed to reflect on what was going on in my most important relationship.

The one thing that broke the monotony of it all was Julian’s notes—each one heartfelt, unique, and full of care, reassuring me that he truly intended to recover. I clung to that hope despite having spent countless hours online learning about addiction, confronting the reality that healing was rarely a straight line. I dove into the works of Gabor Maté, even readingIn the Realm ofHungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction, in an attempt to understand why Julian had made the choices he did in the first place. Maté viewed addiction as a coping mechanism for unresolved psychological wounds, particularly those rooted in early childhood trauma or emotional neglect. This perspective seemed to explain so much about Julian’s struggles, and it fit what he’d told me about growing up in the foster care system. But I couldn’t help but wonder—could he overcome this past with my help?

I had also put together a full business plan for Amanda’s publishing company, then set about hiring the right people to bring it to life. Most nights, I was immersed in reviewing manuscripts from literary agents, hoping to find the one that would truly resonate with an audience.

It didn’t surprise me that, after all that, I ended up getting sick. It felt like I was coming down with the flu—utterly drained, at the worst possible time. What was even stranger was that I sometimes felt short of breath. I figured it had to be psychological—maybe anxiety, because I was too young to be dealing with any real medical issues. It felt like my diaphragm was expanding, this constant heavy pressure on my chest. The weird part was, it only happened at certain times, like when I was about to fall asleep. Was I starting to have panic attacks on top of everything else? It seemed so irrational, so I kept putting off doing anything about it.

But it got worse because I’d lost my appetite—though, given all that had happened, it wasn’t surprising. I made myself a promise: if I started feeling completely drained, I would take a couple of days off, no matter what. But it was a lot harder to stick to that promise when I had so many goals pulling me in different directions.

That same week, I started my MBA classes and channeled whatever energy I had left into school. Most assignmentswere online—reading, homework, and proctored quizzes. The program was designed for working professionals, so there were no live classes, just recorded lectures from some professors. I found international economics interesting, but finance was a struggle. Without Julian to help, I had to reread the textbook multiple times to understand the concepts. Still, it served as a distraction from my illness and a reason to avoid overexerting myself. After late nights finishing assignments, I showed up to the office exhausted, and Kali noticed right away.

“Lucie, are you alright? You look a bit…” She blinked. “Green.” She cleared her throat, realizing the full truth was perhaps a little harsh.

That was not what I wanted to hear, but she was right that the whole morning I hadn’t been feeling well. I definitely now had nausea on top of everything. “I think maybe it’s a bug.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she gave me a sympathetic glance. “If you need to take off, I am happy to cover for you.”

“You know Kali, since it’s been like this for a week, I don’t think it’s anything contagious. I’ve just been overworking myself because Julian is on a lengthy work trip.” I had to give her the white lie version of things.

“Yeah, that’s understandable. Amanda has loaded your plate with quite a few things. Do you know she’s gone again?”

I shook my head. “Lately it feels like she’s not even wanting to run the business anymore, but I actually think it’s the opposite. She’s in New York trying to negotiate the IPO.” I slid into my seat and sighed.

“Can I bring you a tea?” Kali offered, not letting go of her concerned look.

The wave of nausea was getting worse. I nodded with thanks, though it was becoming harder to stay focused on the conversation.

“Be right back with some ginger tea,” she selected the flavor as if the nausea was written all over my face. As soon as she left, I headed straight for the bathroom, grateful it was empty. I stood in front of the mirror, leaning on the sink, cursing whatever illness had a grip on me. The fatigue felt suffocating, and now my stomach was starting to feel bloated too. As I instinctively placed my hand over it, a sudden thought hit me. I hadn’t gotten my period yet. And this was around the time when I should. I hardly stressed about it because we weren’t trying. I’d been taking my birth control pills consistently, and they were 99% effective.

“Lucie?” The door opened as Kali entered. “Sorry, I got a little worried about you. Just wanted to check you’re okay. Also, Amanda’s just messaged me that she wants to talk to you on a video call and to get it ready for 10 AM, is that okay?”

No, I wasn’t, it felt like I’d throw up any minute.

“You know Kali, I think I need to go home.” I gripped the sink. “I feel really rough right now.”

“I’ll tell her you came down with something. I am sure whatever she has to say isn’t as important as your health and well-being.” She seemed apologetic. “I’ll leave you here if you need privacy, but if you need my company, just let me know.”

I knew she had kids, so she seemed like the perfect person to ask. But honestly, there wasn’t much to do except take the test. I figured it would just be a formality, a way to confirm it was negative, so I decided to stop by the pharmacy on my way home.

“I am okay Kali, I’ll see you hopefully tomorrow!”

It was almost comfortingto sink into the sheets, finally acknowledging that I couldn’t push myself any further. Beingthis unwell made everything else fade—deadlines, goals, expectations—and all I could focus on was simply being. After an hour of mindlessly watching whatever was on TV, I finally decided it was time to take the plunge and take the dreaded test.

But just when I was about to head for the bathroom, I heard a ring on our door. Nobody ever came to visit us directly, except Rose and Oliver, so I expected a stranger. Feeling a little more rested, I hurried to check the camera footage.

“Sophie!” I exclaimed, rushing to open the door, surprised to find her standing there. She must’ve decided to drop by unannounced. “I stopped by the office to grab lunch with some friends, and then I heard you weren’t feeling well.” She handed me a basket brimming with treats.

“Thanks, love,” I suddenly felt cheerful, accepting all of it with a grateful smile. Inside, there were flowers, lotions, bath bombs, chocolate—and most importantly—a journal that I hadn’t expected: a wedding planner.

“I’d invite you to come in, but I don’t want you to catch whatever I may have,” I warned her. Even though maybe it wasn’t contagious…

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