The second installment of The Bambina series. Read to find out the secrets hidden in Danielle's journal, and how the couple, Sophia and Raphaelle, navigates their new Normal.
I swallow my last piece of breakfast, scrunching my nose. Yucky salad. Daddy's obsession with keeping me healthy is not one of my favorite things about him. But vitamins... I could've just taken a supplement. I inwardly roll my eyes.
I'm going to therapy again. I've got more to talk about. And it's not just about Danielle. Lately I've been troubled by almost everything. I've come to realize that it hasn't been my responsibility to take care of everyone else. And I've decided, though it might be more difficult than flipping a light switch, that I'll stop blaming myself for everyone's wrong doings... including those of Danielle. It was her responsibility to reach out for help. What happened isn't my fault. Though I feel bad for just saying that. I know it's true.
As I push away the remains of my breakfast, daddy's already heading for the car. I follow suit, and he's buckling me in as per usual. Will that ever stop giving me squishies?
As we make our way out of the elevator, daddy stops me. "If you need me, just call for me like last time, okay?"
I nod. "Thank you," I reply.
He brushes my hair away from my face, leaning against the wall. "Give me a kiss," he orders. I happily oblige. I love the taste of his lips. I think they're my favorite flavor.
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Once our lips part, he gives me a brief smile. "I love you," he reminds me. Three words providing unlimited strength.
The therapist's office is a sanctuary of sorts. The muted tones and soft lighting having a calming effect. My therapist is already seated, her notepad balanced on her knee, a gentle smile on her face as I enter. "Good morning," she greets me, her voice steady and calm.
"Morning," I reply, settling into the familiar chair. We sit in silence for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she breaks the silence.
"How have you been since our last session?" she asks, pen poised to capture my words.
"Honestly, I've been better," I admit. "I've been thinking a lot about Danielle and... everything that happened."
She nods, her expression empathetic. "What have you been thinking about?"
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "I've realized that it wasn't my responsibility to save her. She had to want to help herself, and I couldn't force that on her even if I tried. It's just... hard to accept."
Acceptance. It's such a simple concept, yet it feels so elusive. How do you accept the things you can't change, the people you can't save? It feels rather impossible. To me at least.
"Acceptance is a process, not a destination," she says gently. "It's okay to feel conflicted. What matters is that you're working through it. You still remember the wine?"
I nod, trying to absorb her words. "Yeah. Healing takes time," I answer.
We spend the next hour dissecting my feelings, examining the guilt and sorrow that have become unwelcome companions in my life. By the time the session ends, I feel lighter, as if a small piece of the burden has been lifted, again. Therapy really works, I suppose.
