Page 42 of Angel
“It gave me something to control,” I whisper.
There it is. The ugly truth. If it was my fault, then maybe I could fix it, my failure, then maybe I could correct it. Admitting that feels like peeling skin back.
“And Angel?” she asks gently.
I close my eyes for a moment.
“He tried to save me from hurting,” I say. “And I needed him to sit in it with me instead.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Those two things are often mistaken for each other.”
I exhale shakily. “He thought he was protecting me.”
“And you?”
“I thought he didn’t understand.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.” The word surprises me. “He did. He just didn’t know how to show it.”
“And did you?”
My throat tightens.
“No.”
Because I was so busy drowning in my own fear that I didn’t see his. I didn’t see the way he stood in doorways watching me spiral. The way he swallowed his own grief so mine could take up the room.
The hardest question comes halfway through the session.
“If you never have children,” Dr. Meyers asks gently, “who are you?”
It feels like the air gets thinner. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
She doesn’t flinch. “That’s not an answer to be ashamed of. It just means the question matters.”
I stare at the wall behind her. At a framed quote about resilience, I can’t quite focus on.Who am I without this dream?I start listing things in my head. I’m Angel’s wife, someone’s daughter, and the woman who keeps the clubhouse calendar from imploding.
I’m the one who remembers birthdays, who sends care packages when someone’s mom is sick, who organizes Christmas toys without anyone asking. I love music too loud, coffee too strong, and cry at stupid commercials. I’m stubborn, loyal, and softer than I let people see.
None of those things disappear if I don’t become a mother. The thought terrifies me. Because it means I still exist even if this dream doesn’t happen. It also frees me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“You don’t have to decide that future today,” Dr. Meyers says. “You just have to widen your identity enough that it isn’t the only thing holding you together.”
Widen your identity. The phrase lingers. When I leave the office, the sun feels brighter than it has in weeks.Not hopeful. Just real.
I sit in my car for a long moment, hands resting on the steering wheel, breathing through the echo of the session. I don’t feel fixed but more aware.
Angel texts while I’m still there.
Hope today was okay. No rush to reply.
I smile despite myself. He’s trying so hard to respect the space.
It was hard.
I type back.
