The Past Within - Mialotte - TNN

I don't want to talk

Charlotte sat on the therapist's couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them protectively. Her eyes were distant, fixed on a spot on the floor, while her mind swirled in a haze of emotions she couldn't seem to sort through. Her therapist sat across from her, observing the silence that had hung between them since the session began.

"Charlotte?" the therapist asked gently, trying to draw her out. "How are you feeling today?"

No response. Charlotte tightened her grip around her legs, her body curling inward, as if she were trying to make herself smaller, invisible even. Her heart ached, but she couldn't find the words to express it. Everything felt too heavy, too overwhelming.

The therapist tried again, shifting the question. "How has it been at home since everything happened? Has Mia been there for you?"

Still, nothing. Charlotte's eyes flickered for a brief second, but she remained silent. The room felt suffocating like the weight of her grief had multiplied and filled every corner, pressing down on her, stealing her voice.

Then the therapist paused for a moment, studying Charlotte with a mix of concern and understanding. "How is Mia handling the loss of the baby?" she asked, her voice soft but probing.

The question struck Charlotte like a jolt. She blinked, her eyes widening slightly as if she'd just been pulled from a fog. Her breath caught in her throat, and for the first time in the session, she moved, her gaze shifting from the floor to the therapist's face.

Mia.

The realization hit her like a punch to the chest. In all her pain, all her grief, she hadn't even thought to ask Mia how she was doing. She had been so wrapped up in her own sorrow, in the guilt and the loss, that she'd forgotten Mia was suffering too. The memory of Mia holding her, comforting her, being her rock through the storm flashed through her mind. But had Mia ever cried? Had she ever shared how she was feeling?

Tears welled up in Charlotte's eyes, but they weren't just for herself this time. She shook her head, the first real movement she'd made in the session. "I... I haven't even asked her," she whispered, her voice breaking.

The therapist leaned in slightly, her expression gentle but encouraging. "It's understandable, Charlotte. You've been through so much. But Mia has too. Sometimes in our own grief, we forget that the people we love are grieving as well."

Charlotte wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, her chest tightening with shame and guilt. "She's been there for me... this whole time," Charlotte whispered. "She's been so strong, and I... I didn't even think to ask her how she's feeling."

Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands. The weight of that realization was unbearable. Mia had been her rock through the loss of the baby, had comforted her every night, stayed by her side when she felt like falling apart, and yet... she hadn't once thought about how Mia was coping with the loss.

"She must be hurting too," Charlotte continued, her words coming out in a broken stream. "But she hasn't said anything. She hasn't cried. I didn't even notice. How could I not notice?"

The therapist allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, letting Charlotte process her own thoughts. "Grief can be very isolating," she said gently. "It can make us forget that others are walking through their own pain. But it's not too late to ask her, to share your grief together. It might help both of you to talk about what you're feeling."

Charlotte nodded weakly, feeling the tears falling faster now. "I've been so focused on my own pain... I never thought about hers. I feel so selfish."

"You're not selfish, Charlotte," the therapist reassured her. "You're hurting. But now that you realize it, you can change things. You can be there for her too, just like she's been there for you."