Page 65 of Ex- Factor
He studied me, then spoke. “That’s the conflict of the human condition, Silas. It’s the complicated, often contradictory nature of our relationships with the people who shaped us—for better or worse.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“You’re holding two truths that feel like they should cancel each other out, but they don’t. You can feel relief that a source of conflict and pain in your life is gone, and you can also feel the hollow loss of their absence. You can be angry at them for the people they were. And yes, a part of you can even feel a dark satisfaction in their death.”
I kept my head down, listening.
He was putting words to the mess I couldn’t.
“No guilt isn’t a sign you’re a bad person,” he continued. “It’s a sign you’re afeelingperson caught in an impossibly painful situation. The fact that it’s confusing, that it’s a tangled knot of anger and relief and obligation—that’s the most normal thing about all of this.”
I finally looked up. “So how do I untangle the knot?”
“We—how dowe,” he corrected. “We don’t try to untie it all at once. We just look at one strand at a time. We acknowledge it. We name it. ‘This is my anger.’ ‘This is my relief.’ ‘This is my guilt.’ We hold them separately for a moment, and we understand that no single one of those feelings defines your entire relationship with your parents. They’re just parts of a whole that was… complicated.”
He let the words settle.
“The calls about the company—that’s a tangible strand. The feeling of not wanting it—that’s valid. The guilt you feel about not wanting it is also valid. They can coexist. Your job right now isn’t to make a decision. Not until you’re ready.”
I sat back, drained, but the pressure in my chest eased just a fraction.
“It’s a lot,” I said.
Understatement of the century.
“It is,” Dr. Bailey agreed. “And you don’t have to carry it all today.”
We sat in silence for a long stretch. I don’t know how many minutes passed before he added quietly,
“We can stop here. Go do something that makes you happy—with Eshe. Or Ekon. Or both.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter thirty eight- Silas
The weight of the session with Dr. Bailey sat on my shoulders like a lead blanket. His final words echoed in my head:“Go do something that’ll make you happy.”It felt less like a suggestion and more like a prescription.
The door swung open before I could knock. A tiny tornado in footie pajamas stood there. “’Las!”
“Hey, little man.” I scooped Ekon up, the solid weight of him an immediate balm—a shot of pure, uncomplicated joy straight to the veins. “We’re going on an adventure.”
An hour and one obscenely expensive children’s boutique later, we were both suited up. Ekon wore a miniature black suit, looking profoundly serious as he examined his tiny leather shoes. I’d opted for a charcoal grey Tom Ford. I buckled him into his car seat.
“Okay, soldier. Mission: Make Eshe Say Yes.”
Ekon pretty much ignored me, kicking his little legs in the backseat, grinning like he’d just won the lottery while watching something on the tablet he was holding. He had no idea what was about to happen.
The rich, savory scent of caramelized onions and garlic hit me the second I opened my front door. Eshe was in the kitchen, back turned, stirring a pot. The domesticity of it—the sheernormalcy after the emotional wreckage of the day—stole the air from my lungs. This.Thiswas what I wanted. It could erase everything else.
I set Ekon down and gave him a gentle nudge. “Go show Eshe how handsome you are.”
He waddled into the kitchen, arms outstretched. “She, she! Look!”
She turned, already smiling. It widened at the sight of the tiny suit. “Oh my goodness! Look at you! You are so—” Her eyes lifted past Ekon, landing on me. Her smile faltered, replaced by warm confusion.
“What’s all this? You two about to pose forGQ, father-son edition?”
I walked to her, heart hammering like it wanted out of my chest. I took her free hand—the one not holding a wooden spoon.
