Page 15 of Where We Belong

“What brought you here?” he asks, peering at me through the video call.

I arch an eyebrow, and he chuckles, rubbing his temples. “Right, telemedicine. I apologize. You’re one of the few patients I don’t see in person, so I’m still adjusting.”

“I can’t imagine,” I say truthfully. As a small-town doctor, I run things differently. If a patient can’t come in, I go to their homes and even bring medications to immobile patients.

“Tell me why you reached out,” Dr. Rhodes repeats, studying me through the screen.

I stared back, unsure where to even start. This reminds me of when I pushed Heath into therapy to fix his issues. I was so good at pointing out how he’d fucked up with Atzi, and how he needed to work through his mommy issues. But I’ve never examined my own problems. Just pushed them down and pretended that having a dysfunctional family doesn’t affect me.

Leaving home after graduating high school and never speaking to them seemed to have fixed everything. Or that’s what I’ve told myself. Until now, as I try to raise my daughter alone and feel like I’ve lost myself somewhere along the way.

So where does that leave me? Do I just lay out my dysfunctional childhood, my fucked-up family… But aren’t those the same things? I’m probably overthinking this. It’s simpler than that.

I take a breath and begin. “I used to be really easygoing. My friends said my goal was to befriend everyone in the world.” I give a wry half-smile. “Now I only have a few close friends. The change was gradual, but I’m not that fun, friendly Ben anymore.”

“So you miss having friends?” He rubs his chin. “If I understand correctly, you don’t like that your social circle decreased because you became a new parent.”

“No.” I grimace, rubbing my forehead. “I hate that everything sets me off now. I’m angry and nothing works in my favor.”

“How is fatherhood treating you?”

At the thought of Bernie, a stupid grin spreads across my face. “She’s my everything, but I don’t think I’m winning at that either.”

“How’s your relationship with her mom?”

I open my mouth and close it. “There’s no relationship there.” I don’t stop, giving him the abbreviated tale of my daughter’s donor.

“It was never a relationship—just a string of one-night stands over several weeks. Months later, she contacted me saying she’s expecting, and only had a few weeks to go before the baby was born.” I tap my temple in disbelief. “She wasn’t even sure if the baby was mine or her husband’s.”

I cradle my head, tamping down the familiar rage. It’s been more than three years and speaking of this still makes me mad. “She was fucking married. I’m very upfront with my hardest limit—I don’t fuck married women, no matter how hot she is. I had the one rule.”

I exhale sharply, realizing I'm losing control of my temper, again. I can feel my pulse accelerating and the vein in my temple throbbing.

“Why do you think this makes you feel so strongly, even now?" Dr. Rhodes asks and I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to end the video call right then and there. I don't want to be in this therapy session, but I stay for Bernie's sake.

I stare at the screen, not having an answer for him. "It's been three years, yet you're still angry," he states flatly, his tone professional. “What is it that angers you the most about the situation?”

My nails dig into my palms. Everything about that situation infuriates me. Everything. She didn’t respect my boundaries. “I was almost responsible for breaking up a marriage.”

He bobs his head a couple of times. “Somehow, I don’t think this is about integrity. Has anyone in your family had a similar situation?”

I let out a derisive laugh, gaze flickering away. That exact situation is the story of my existence.

I clear my throat, rubbing the back of my neck. “My mother…” My voice trails off, and I swallow hard. “She was the nanny for my father’s children while he was still married to his first wife.”

I explain to him how my father left his family after the affair. His ex-wife spiraled into depression and killed herself. My half-brothers were sent away to boarding school. The youngest of the two was killed in some sort of accident. I barely remember it, and my father never spoke of him again.

“Affairs destroy lives,” I tell him, moving my tight jaw as I try to relax. “Not once in my life did I want to be responsible for a tragedy like the one my mother and father created. This fucking woman dragged me into an affair without consent.”

“So you blame yourself for that?” he asks gently. “You’re afraid that could’ve caused a tragedy. You think you’re responsible for the affair.”

I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “Of course I do. I should’ve made sure she was indeed single.”

He shakes his head. “I was actually talking about your parents’ affair.”

I frown, confused by his comment. “What?”

“Have you considered that you took on responsibility for their actions at some point? I wonder when that was.” He’s looking directly at the camera, but I’m guessing he’s trying to study me.

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