And now—after all this time, all this pain—now he wanted to sit in front of a stranger and say what he couldn’t say when it actually counted?
“I’m not doing this to trap you,” Adair said barely audible. “But I am doing this because I finally got the message and I know it’s late. Maybe too late but I want to try…please”
Sabine looked away, unsure if the burn in her eyes was heat or shame. Probably both.
“You knew to get Narri to spring this on me,” she whispered.
Adair nodded once. “She knew I wouldn’t say the right thing to get you here. I just…I wanted you here and I knew she was how I could do it.”
Sabine sighed and finally stepped closer into the room, arms crossed tight. “Let’s just get this over with,” she murmured.
But inside?
Inside, a part of her had already sat down. Had been waiting in that chair for years.
The receptionist offered her another smile and gestured toward the seating area again. Adair was still standing, hands in his pockets, not pushing, just waiting. Sabine sat, but only because her knees felt like they might buckle otherwise.
The room smelled like eucalyptus and clean carpet. Something calm and clinical. There was a stack ofPsychologyTodaymagazines on the glass coffee table and a laminated list of resources for grief, trauma, and family crisis support.
Of course there was.
Sabine kept her eyes on her lap. She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to look at the man who once acted as if therapy wouldn’t fix what was already so broken. The man who used to brush past her pleas with a tight-lipped “we’re fine” while she fell apart quietly in the bathroom. The man who was now…here. In this lobby. In this chair. In this moment she’d begged for years.
The ache in her throat thickened, but before she could fully spiral, the frosted door at the far end of the room opened with a soft click.
“Ms. Knight. Mr. Dayne.”
Both of their heads turned at once.
Dr. Apple Pie stepped out—elegant but earthy, warm but composed. Her gray hair was swept up into a high, perfectly round bun, not a single strand out of place. She wore a knee-length black dress, simple and clean, paired with mustard yellow pumps that looked too cheerful for this kind of appointment. No makeup. No jewelry. Just a pair of glasses perched on her head and eyes that carried wisdom deeper than most people could comprehend.
Her presence wasn’t intimidating but it filled the room anyway.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said gently. “Come on back.”
Sabine rose slowly, not missing the way Adair waited for her to go first. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge the chivalry or the old habit. She just followed the sound of Dr. Pie’s voice and the faint scent of lavender trailing behind her.
The hallway was narrow and soft-lit. Framed affirmations lined the walls—Healing is not linear.You deserve peace.Say the thing out loud.Each one felt like a personal attack.
They reached the office at the end.
It looked more like a cozy den than a clinical space. Two deep chairs angled slightly toward each other. A large window with sheer curtains letting in the end-of-day light. Bookshelves full of texts and tissues. A small table with ceramic mugs—water already waiting beside it.
Dr. Pie motioned to the chairs. “Sit wherever feels right.”
Sabine sat first this time, dropping her purse to the side and tucking her legs carefully beneath the chair. Adair sat across from her. Not beside her. Across from her. Like this was court.
Dr. Pie didn’t sit immediately. She moved with intention. Like a therapist who’d done this for decades. Like a woman who’d seen hundreds of broken hearts walk into her room and still believed every single one could heal.
“Before we begin,” she said softly, “I want to thank you both for being here. Couples therapy, especially after separation or trauma, isn’t easy. It takes courage to sit in this space…and honesty. So whatever you’re bringing with you today…you’re welcome to put it down. At least for the next hour.”
Inhaling sharply, Sabine tried to push past the tightening in her throat.
“Sabine,” Dr. Pie turned to her with kind, perceptive eyes. “I know this wasn’t your idea.”
“No,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t.”
“But you showed up anyway.”