Don't take it Personal

Supportive Therapy Session

A week had swiftly slipped by, and I found myself in a state of equilibrium. My commitment to therapy remained unwavering, serving as the guiding light through the labyrinth of my emotions. Trey, on the other hand, had gracefully acquiesced to my request to maintain a professional distance, understanding the need for space and time.

The wounds inflicted by Miller's betrayal still remained unhealed, each scar a testament to the pain endured. Today marked a significant juncture, as Miller was scheduled to attend my therapy session. The process of convincing him had been arduous, fraught with apprehension and uncertainty. Yet, ultimately, he had agreed to take this profound step alongside me, a testament to the depth of our connection and his willingness to confront the past.

Today's session held the promise of closure, the beginning of an arduous journey towards healing, forgiveness.

As I prepared to face the challenges of this pivotal day, I held onto the belief that with time, understanding, and the guidance of therapy, I could gradually unpack the heavy baggage that Miller's betrayal had left in its wake.

I donned a sleek grey pencil suit paired with vibrant red stilettos, preparing to depart from the office. Just as I was about to make my exit, Trey summoned me into his office. He was impeccably dressed in a matching grey suit, crisp white shirt, a tasteful grey tie, and polished black shoes. His concern was evident as he inquired about my well-being, and without hesitation, I confided in him about the upcoming therapy session.

Surprisingly, I didn't approach the session with dread, but rather a desire to move past whatever lay ahead. To my surprise, Trey offered to give me a lift, a gesture I gratefully accepted. In a mere 15 minutes, despite encountering only minor traffic, we reached our destination. Trey bid me farewell, and I proceeded to my therapy session, appreciative of his support.

Outside the therapist's office, I spotted Miller, who seemed to have just come from work, dressed in black denim, a blue shirt, and sturdy black boots. "Good evening," I greeted him, but before he could respond, Mrs. Evans, our therapist, opened the door. I motioned for him to go ahead of me.

We took our seats, and Mrs. Evans introduced herself to Miller. "So, Mr. Miller," she began, "you and Stephanie have been together for how long?"

"We've been together for 10 years in total," he emphasized, which elicited a chuckle from me. Dr. Evans turned her attention to me and asked, "Do you have anything to add, Stephanie?"

"I do," I replied, "We were together." Miller glanced at me and said, "Stephanie, I am sorry." I couldn't help but scoff, feeling exhausted by Miller's manipulation and deceit.

Dr. Evans intervened, inquiring of Miller, "What exactly are you apologizing for, Miller?" He hesitated for a moment before admitting, "For all the hurt I have caused her. Yes, throughout the 10 years, I have cheated, but she is still the one I need and want, and I will do everything and anything to get her back."

I sat there, listening, but deep down, I knew I had moved past Miller and his empty promises. I yearned for someone who would be supportive, trustworthy, and attentive without needing constant reminders. Miller hung his head, rubbing his temples, perhaps realizing the magnitude of the damage he had done.

"What I'd really like to understand, Miller, is why you didn't just leave me if you were entertaining my sister and other women. Why string me along and, not to mention, cheat within the home we shared?" I asked, a burning desire for closure in my words.

"I truly believed you were too good for me," Miller began, his voice tinged with regret. "I also knew you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and with you by my side, our future would be secure."

His words hung in the air, but I knew deep down that there was no fixing our relationship. "Miller," I said firmly, "I'm over you." Dr. Evans echoed this sentiment, advising him to work on himself.

Our therapy session concluded, and I hurriedly made my way outside, flagging down a taxi as my hunger gnawed at me. However, before I could leave, Miller came running after me, pleading, "Don't listen to what the therapy session said or what the therapist said. We can make it."

Just as I was about to respond, Trey pulled up in his sleek black Audi, calling out, "Babe, are you ready?" I nodded and turned to Miller, offering my final words. "I wish you the best, but this wasn't meant to be," I told him. Trey opened the car door for me, and I could see the jealousy in Miller's eyes as we drove off.

In the car, Trey inquired if I had eaten, to which I replied in the negative. He then asked what I was in the mood for, and I couldn't help but smile. "Popeye's chicken," I answered, feeling a sense of relief and optimism about the future.

Trey and I shared a casual evening, parked in the dimly lit lot, nestled comfortably inside her car, sharing lighthearted jokes. It was the perfect time to discuss the therapy session I had just experienced.

"How about we go out tonight?" I ventured, breaking the laughter-filled silence. Curiosity filled Trey's eyes as he inquired, "Where to?"

I pondered a moment, torn between my desire for drinks and the allure of trying out the chic new restaurant, Buzo, in the heart of New Kingston. "How about we start with drinks," I suggested, to which Trey amiably agreed.

The drive back home was accompanied by our favorite tunes, setting a melodious backdrop for our return to the apartment complex. Upon arrival, we parted ways, each retreating to our respective apartments.

Inside my cozy abode, I found myself making a firm resolution: I would venture into a romantic relationship with Trey, and tonight, I would tell him.

As I prepared for our night out, I indulged in a relaxing bath, enveloped by the fragrant embrace of rose and chocolate body wash. My closet became a treasure trove as I hunted for the perfect outfit, ultimately deciding on elegant black mesh undergarments that hinted at the alluring evening ahead.