Chapter 2

As I snapped the pill bottle shut, another notification lit up my phone.

Sonia had sent me a friend request with a message.

"Ms. Paulsen, Dr. Specter is staying at my place tonight," she texted. "I assume you've gotten used to handling things on your own by now, right?"

Then she sent me a photo.

Hugh's coat was draped over a chair in her bedroom, and hanging beside it was a pair of men's pajama pants I'd never seen before.

Hugh didn't come home until two in the morning. The first thing he did was take my phone from me.

He ordered, "Unlock it."

"Why?"

"Delete what Sonia sent you," he said, looking utterly unfazed as he stood beside the bed. "She has severe insecurity issues. That's why she provokes people to reassure herself that she matters. You studied psychology, didn't you? You should understand that."

"I only minored in psychology for a year," I retorted. "I'm not the expert here."

"Then don't use an outsider's judgment to question professional treatment," he shot back.

He entered my passcode himself, deleted the photo, and blocked Sonia's number.

"How do you know my passcode?"

"You told me four years ago when you had your first major panic attack."

I'd woken from a nightmare sobbing and begged Hugh not to turn off his phone. He'd held me all night and promised that I'd never have to worry about being unable to reach him.

Now, when he brought up that same memory, it sounded like nothing more than a clinical note—reduced to a date and a list of symptoms.

"What about the pajama pants?"

"She threw up on my clothes, so I changed into a spare set from the clinic."

"Then why did you go to her house? You could have contacted one of her family members."

"Her brother died, and she doesn't have anyone else she trusts," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Zara, haven't you recovered already? Why are you still competing with a patient for my attention?"

"My parents died right in front of me," I said. "When that trauma left me with an anxious attachment, you told me you'd be the one person I could always rely on."

I threw back the covers and got out of bed, but he stepped in front of the door.

"Where are you going?"

"The guest room," I replied.

"That kind of withdrawal is classic passive aggression," he declared. "Come back. We need to talk this through."

I didn't move as Hugh set my phone back on the nightstand.

"Your birthday is this Saturday, right? I made a reservation at a restaurant, and Sonia will be joining us. You two need to meet so we can clear up this unhealthy hostility you're projecting onto her."

"Why are you bringing her to my birthday?"

"Because you've developed an inaccurate perception of her. Avoiding the trigger will only make your anxiety worse. You need to face it if you're going to make progress."

…

On Saturday night, Sonia arrived 40 minutes late. She walked into the private dining room wearing a white dress, carrying the stuffed bunny Hugh had given me.

He'd placed it beside my bed last year when my insomnia was at its worst.

"Ms. Paulsen, I'm so sorry," she said. "I got scared last night, so Dr. Specter lent me this."

I noticed a dark smear of foundation on the bunny's left ear.

"It'll wash off," Hugh reassured me as he pulled out a chair for Sonia.

"Don't bother," I said, slipping the bunny into a paper bag. "I don't want it anymore."

"Don't attach your emotions to an object," he chided.

Sonia tugged at his sleeve.

"This is my fault," she said softly. "Maybe I should leave. I don't want to ruin Ms. Paulsen's birthday."

"Sit down," Hugh said firmly, pouring her a glass of warm water. "She needs to learn to tolerate discomfort. We can't keep making everyone accommodate her."

When the cake arrived, the server asked how many candles we wanted.

"Just one," Sonia immediately said, smiling. "Ms. Paulsen can start over and grow up all over again. Dr. Specter said her attachment issues are basically like those of a child who never learned to let go."

The server's smile froze.

I turned toward Hugh.

"Did you actually tell her that?"

"She asked why you were uncomfortable around her, and I gave her a basic explanation," he replied. "I didn't disclose anything confidential."

Sonia's hand flew to her mouth.

"Ms. Paulsen, please don't misunderstand. I'm not laughing at you. Dr. Specter also told me you need to ask him at least ten times a day whether he loves you, and that you can't sleep unless you hear his voice before bed."

The room fell silent.

"Come on, blow out the candles," Hugh urged, pushing the cake toward me. "Don't let irrelevant comments ruin your birthday."

I didn't move at all.

After a few seconds, Hugh leaned over and blew them out himself.

"Making wishes isn't rational anyway. It's probably better this way."

…

On the drive home, Hugh placed a gift box on my lap.

Inside was a smartwatch.

"It can track your heart rate and sleep," he said. "If you have an anxiety attack, look at the data first instead of letting your feelings exaggerate your physical symptoms."

I closed the box.

"Thanks, Dr. Specter."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"Don't call me that."

"But tonight, everyone knows I'm your patient," I said. "I'm the only one who still thinks I'm your girlfriend."

He turned to look at me at a red light.

"You're trying to punish me with that comment. We can talk when you're calm."

His phone suddenly buzzed. Sonia had sent him a voice message.

"Dr. Specter, I cut my hand," she cried. "There's a lot of blood. I'm scared!"

Hugh immediately turned the car around. I reached for the door, but he'd already locked the doors.

"Come with me," he said. "Maybe seeing how I actually treat her will clear up this misunderstanding."

…

20 minutes later, Sonia opened the door.

There was barely a scratch on her finger, but the two place settings on the dining table were impossible to miss.

One of the bowls was filled with Hugh's favorite soup.