When History Repeats Itself

The Cost of Honesty

Day one of outpatient therapy had been uneventful. Walking back into that building—four years later, after promising myself I'd never need it again—was like swallowing broken glass. I had once left here buoyed by hope. This time, I walked in wearing defeat.

When Dr. Abbey asked how it felt to return, I didn't have words. Only tears.

Four years. Gone. I was back to day one.

That morning, my father sent over a draft of my resignation letter to approve. I didn't read it. I signed and returned it without a second thought. There was nothing left to prove at Chase Men.

On day two, I was tense. Pastor Jonah was scheduled to lead group therapy. I worried that he would report back to Dom. But Dr. Abbey reassured me—confidentiality wasn't just a word here. It was law.

I had arranged for Damien and Alexa to visit on the weekend. I owed them both the truth. But the idea of facing Dominic made my stomach twist.

The My phone was still off. I wasn't ready.

Were we even still together?

That question echoed in my mind as my mother parked the car. She insisted on walking me in. Again.

I stepped out slowly, feet brushing the gravel, my hand still gripping the edge of the door.

"Mum, really. I'm fine," I said, turning and leaning back into the car to speak to her. "You don't have to come in."

Before she could answer, a voice cracked through the air—sharp, wounded, familiar.

"Are you trying to drive me completely insane? Because it's working."

Dom.

I froze, still bent halfway into the car. My breath caught in my throat. I didn't need to turn—I could feel him there. Behind me. The heat of his body, his anger, right there in the air between us.

"I followed you here," he said, his voice softer but still tight. "You can't keep hiding from me, Kerry. Sooner or later, we were going to have to talk."

He turned me gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. I kept my eyes on the ground, arms folded across my chest. He held both my shoulders now.

"Look at me," he said.

I couldn't.

"We got them. Paba stole the earrings. She's been stealing for months. She tried to set you up. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Dad's ready to rehire you. He says you two already have something in the works. I'd hire you myself if I could, but you know—contracts."

I stared at my flip flops.

Day two of the rehab uniform—jeans, a tee, and these worn rubber soles that slapped softly against the floor. A far cry from the sharp tailoring and heels I would have been wearing today if I still worked at Chase Men.

This was the new reality. Just me—bare, exposed, trying to hold it together in shoes that couldn't carry the weight of who I used to be.

"Kerry won't be coming back to Chase Men," my mother said from behind me, her tone cool and composed. "Dominic, I think it's best if you leave."

He ignored her. "Kerry, please say something."

I looked up, my voice breaking. "I just hope you can forgive me someday. But there's something I need to tell you first."

His brow furrowed. "Tell me what?"

"Come with me," I said, holding out my hand.

Without hesitation, he took it. Like he still believed in us.