Secrets of Us A Forbidden Love Romance (Alina) novel Chapter 221

Domestic Chaos

1 Week Later

The therapist’s office smells like cinnamon. It kind of tickles my nose, reminding me of Christmas and Thanksgiving.

I sit, tucked into a large, pale pink armchair that squeaks every time I move, with my legs crisscrossed and my arms tight across my chest.

Her name is Cami, and she’s young. Maybe like in her late twenties. Her hair is dyed a soft cotton candy pink, the ends curled slightly. She’s wearing a chunky yellow cardigan that I

kind of want for myself and I almost feel like I’m talking to a friend.

I tell her about the accident, about my relationship with my brother.

Her neon green nails click gently against the arm of her chair as she waves and gestures,

which she does often.

“That’s a lot,” she says in an empathetic whisper.

I blink at her. That’s an understatement. I manage a small smile. “Yeah. That’s one way to

put it.“.

She laughs easily, not in a fake way, but the kind that sounds like warmth. Like sunshine.

I’m not sure if I like her yet.

But I don’t dislike her either.

She doesn’t push. Just lets the silence linger. I’m kind of thankful for that because I’m not

sure I can get into anything having to do with Zaid, Jake or Aiden.

“Do you still talk to your mother?”

I shake my head. “A lot more has happened since the accident. She’s in Arizona. I’m here,

I don’t-”

I swallow, tightening my arms around myself.

She shakes her head. “We don’t have to dive into everything today. Let’s go at your pace.”

1/4

Domestic Chaos

I unload about my mother mostly, about her neglect and her alcoholism. I open up more than I expect to.

Cami watches me closely, eyes kind and a little glassy at the corners, and I can tell she’s feeling it. Not just nodding through it like it’s her job. It feels genuine.

By the end of the session, my eyes are puffy, my throat sore. I’m wrung out like a rag. And even though I only gave her pieces of the full story, it feels like I’ve bled out half my soul on her rug.

Losing my mother while she stands right in front of me is a terrible thing to go through. Watching her lose herself in grief while being forced to grow up far beyond my years made me lose so much of myself.

Cami validated it all.

I think I do like her.

I leave and cry all the way home, wanting to get it out so that Zaid doesn’t see me like

this.

The house smells like takeout and cardboard. Boxes are stacked everywhere, some half-

opened, others with sticky notes in Zaid’s neat handwriting.

A tiny shred of domestic chaos.

I toe off my shoes and wander to the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water. My hands are

still shaking from earlier.

There’s this aching part of me that wants to sink into Zaid’s arms, to bury my face in his