Recovery Report: I No Longer Need You

The moment the shredder stopped, Hugh Specter's name flashed across my phone.

I didn't answer.

"Ms. Paulsen, are you sure you want to cancel all six remaining appointments?" the receptionist, Tessa Caldwell, asked as she glanced at the strips of paper inside the shredder. "Dr. Specter said you're at a critical stage in your treatment, and stopping abruptly could cause you to regress."

"I'm sure," I replied, leaving my appointment card on the counter. "Don't worry about the refund."

"Ms. Paulsen, you've been seeing Dr. Specter for a long time," Tessa suddenly whispered. "Do you know if he and Ms. Rafferty are actually dating? The way they've been around each other during her appointments… They look so sweet together!"

I locked my phone.

"I have no idea."

I hadn't even made it halfway down the block when Hugh came after me and grabbed my wrist.

"Why did you cancel your appointments?"

"No physical contact in week four," I said, glancing at his hand around my wrist.

Hugh paused.

"This isn't the time to get hung up on technicalities," he replied, letting go. "Sonia was hyperventilating earlier. I only held her hand to help calm her down."

"Okay."

"Are you not going to ask what triggered her?"

"Nope."

His expression hardened.

"Zara, you're doing it again. You're using avoidance to show that you're upset. The point of exposure therapy isn't to punish me, and it certainly isn't to turn you from someone who's dependent into someone who's emotionally shut down."

"Then what am I supposed to become?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

"Stable. You need to learn that even if I don't respond right away, it doesn't mean I'm going to abandon you."

I'd copied that sentence 400 times over the past month. I repeated it to myself every time I woke up in a panic, every time my heart started racing, and every time I wanted to call him.

Hugh straightened my scarf, his touch so gentle as if nothing had happened.

"Go home tonight and rewrite your progress report. I'll decide whether you're ready to move on to the fifth stage."

"What's the fifth stage?"

"Limited physical contact," he replied. "I'll determine how often and for how long."

I chuckled. "Hugh, do you really think I need your permission just to hug my own boyfriend?"

"Your attachment patterns aren't healthy," he argued. "A normal relationship doesn't work for you."

"Does it work for Sonia?"

His hand froze over my collar.

"Don't make this personal," he finally said.

"Does she even know you're my boyfriend?" I pressed.

Hugh didn't answer right away.

Just then, his phone rang, and Sonia Rafferty's name flickered across the screen.

He glanced at it once before answering the call right in front of me.

"Sonia, I'm here."

I couldn't make out what she said, but she sounded on the verge of tears.

"Don't be scared," Hugh cooed, his voice softening as he turned away. "I haven't gone anywhere. Stay right there. I'll be back soon. "

As he hung up, he pulled out a card from his wallet and shoved it into my hand.

"Take a cab home," he ordered. "There's medicine in the fridge. I'll check your medication log at nine tonight."

"What if I have another panic attack tonight?"

"Follow the steps in your journal. You've already learned how to handle them on your own."

"What if she has one?"

Hugh's gaze lingered on me for two seconds.

"She hasn't recovered as well as you have."

With that, he turned and walked back toward the clinic.

…

At nine that evening, Hugh texted me right on time.

"Send me a picture of your medication."

I took a picture of the empty pill bottle and sent it to him. His reply came almost immediately.

"Good. Today's incident didn't cause you to spiral. That means the treatment is working."

Then another notification appeared.

It was a screenshot of a bank transfer with the note, "Sonia's medication".

He'd sent it to me by mistake.

The message disappeared a minute later, and Hugh called.

"Forget what you just saw," he said, his voice as calm as ever. "Don't let irrelevant information become another source of anxiety."

I opened my desk drawer and put away the journal I'd filled with pages of reminders to reassure myself.

At the very back of the drawer sat a small velvet box.

I'd bought the ring three months ago, and I'd planned to ask him to marry me when I finished the fifth week of my treatment.