Page 84 of Deeply Examined

“She always said I was the only thing worth living for,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.

West blinks hard, like he’s waking up from a nightmare. “It wasn’t until I went to medical school that I realized my mom was bipolar—that’s why she swung so high and low.” His shoulders bow under the weight of his sorrow. “If she’d been diagnosed and treated, everything could have been different—for both her and me.” He sighs, a deep guilt-filled sound.

A few of the kids, mostly girls, cry openly now. I cry with them. A hushed sob rushes out of me as my world shifts. I see a new West standing there, the man but also the boy. Abused and alone. I barely have time to process that contrast before he starts talking again. He’s going faster now, like the quicker he gets out this poison the less likely it is to kill him.

“After that, I bounced from one foster home to another—some worse than living with my mom. I was a mess, angry and reckless. I ran away constantly, living on the streets, stealing to survive, fighting. No matter how far I ran, I always got caught and ended up back in the system.”

Silent tears track down my cheeks. I grasp the edge of the desk to stop myself from embracing him. I haven’t forgotten what he’s done, how angry I am, but even with that weighing me down, there’s the urge to comfort West as well. To help him battle against the darkness his mother and foster families planted deep in his soul.

“The cycle kept repeating, interrupted only when I landed in the hospital. Stitches from a fight. Pneumonia because a foster parent refused to turn on the heat in winter.”

“That’s how it is,” interjects Nick. “Some foster families, they don’t care, at least the ones I’ve been with.”

He and West share a look of understanding, like they’re the only ones who get it. Like they’ve seen the same things, been to the same places.

Puzzle pieces click into place. Things that didn’t make sense before, such as Nick’s prickliness, his suspicion of authority figures. This must be where it all comes from.

West continues his story. “Those hospital stays were the only time I felt safe. It was clean and warm there. People were nice to me, fed me. It was always bright—no shadows creeping in, nothing to fear. That was when I decided to become a doctor.”

He grimaces. “It was hard, though. I had almost no education. My life had been too unstable. Eventually, I applied for emancipation, got it, and moved here because it was the only place I could afford. I stopped fighting. Poured everything into my studies. A scholarship was my only shot at college, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

“In the end, I made it. I’m a doctor now. I have a nice home, a car. I never go hungry. No one can take away what I’ve built.” He shrugs like that’s it—he’s run out of things to say.

Kenzie raises her hand. West gives her a nod.

“So you’re happy?” she asks. “You got everything you wanted?”

West’s gaze lands on me, clouded with despair and longing. “Not everything…and I wouldn’t say I’m happy. Not exactly. I’m comfortable, which is all I ever hoped for, but happy? No. I was for a while. I met a woman.” He looks straight at me as he says the next part, like we’re having a private conversation with no one else in the room. The intensity of his gaze makes my heart skip a beat. I’d almost forgotten how much I like having his eyes on me.

“She was someone I’d dreamed about for years.” He gets a distant look, and I wonder if he’s picturing it—young me. The one who walked these same halls. “The crazy thing is that the reality of her was even better than my imagination. She made me happy, so much that I didn’t know what to do. How to act. No one taught me how to love someone the right way. I lost her.”

These kids aren’t dumb. Cheri glances at me first, then Kieke, Beck, and Ari. They hesitate, unsure how to handle this situation. One by one they turn to me, understanding I’m the woman he’s referring to. I feel their judgment against me. Their sympathy for him. It makes me want to defend myself, to explain all the mistakes, the bad things West has done.

“Ms. Jones,” Kenzie whispers at my elbow. She flicks her eyes to West. “Put the dude out of his misery.”

“Yeah, Ms. Jones,” Cheri says, her eyes wet from crying. “Give him another chance.”

More voices join the chorus. Their words crash over me, but it’s West’s eyes that deliver the final blow. That deep, aching longing. The raw, unguarded way he watches me. Like I’m the last bit of light in his world.

God help me, I feel it.

The part of me that still loves him. The part that remembers the way he used to whisper my name like a prayer, how he held me as if I was something sacred. The way he let me into his world, little by little. I see now how hard that must have been.

But love isn’t always enough.

Does his past justify his mistakes? Does it erase the lies? The betrayal?

I swallow, my voice quieter than I intend. “West?”

He straightens slightly, waiting. Something flickers in his gaze—hope or maybe relief that I’m willing to talk at all.

My mind wars with my heart.

Can I do it? Give him another chance?

I square my shoulders. Take in a steadying breath.

“Can I see you in the hallway, please?”

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