The therapist secret

chapter 8

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The morning after her confrontation with Bella, Layla felt lighter, but something still lingered beneath the surface, like a thread left untied. She had spent the night replaying the conversation in her head, wondering what Bella was hiding, why she couldn't just say what was on her mind. But Layla couldn't get stuck in that loop. She needed to move forward, to build a life for herself outside of the therapy room.

She decided it was time to find a job, something to give her days more structure, to keep her mind occupied. So after breakfast, she laced up her boots and stepped out into the crisp morning air, the city buzzing with life around her. As she wandered through town, she kept her eyes peeled for any "Help Wanted" signs, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. It had been a long time since she'd been in any kind of stable routine, and the idea of working again—of finding a place where she could belong—was both terrifying and thrilling.

After an hour of wandering, something caught her eye: a small, quaint store nestled between a bakery and a florist. Its exterior was warm and inviting, with large windows displaying rows of vintage books and old vinyl records. The sign above the door read *Second Chances*. Layla smiled at the name, feeling an immediate connection.

Without thinking twice, she walked inside.

The scent of old paper and wood polish hit her instantly, filling her with a strange sense of calm. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with books, some worn and weathered, others newer and pristine. Along one side of the shop, rows of vinyl records were neatly organized by genre, their faded covers a testament to decades of music. Layla felt like she had stepped into another world, a sanctuary of stories and songs.

Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair and thick glasses smiled at her. "Looking for something in particular, or just browsing?" she asked, her voice kind and gentle.

"Actually..." Layla hesitated, glancing around the store again, taking in the cozy atmosphere. "I was wondering if you were hiring?"

The woman's eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise. "As a matter of fact, we are. Can you start today?"

Layla blinked, startled by the immediate offer. "Seriously? Just like that?"

The woman chuckled softly. "We're a small place. I've always trusted my gut when it comes to people, and something tells me you'll fit right in here." She extended a hand. "I'm Margaret, the owner."

Layla shook her hand, feeling a sense of warmth spread through her. "I'm Layla."

"Nice to meet you, Layla. The job's pretty simple—help customers, keep the shelves organized, and, of course, you get to listen to as much music as you want." Margaret winked. "If you're interested, I can show you around and get you started."

Layla's heart swelled with gratitude. For the first time in a long time, things were falling into place. "Yeah, I'd love that."

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By the afternoon, Layla was behind the counter, organizing a stack of records while a soft jazz tune played from the store's speakers. The work was easy, the atmosphere soothing. She lost herself in the rhythm of it, feeling the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting off her shoulders.

Every now and then, a customer would drift in, browsing the books or records, and Layla would greet them with a small smile, still getting used to the idea of interacting with strangers in such a casual, normal way. It felt good, though—natural, even. Like she was finding her place in the world again, piece by piece.

But as the afternoon stretched on, the bell above the door chimed, and Layla felt her entire body tense. She glanced up, her hands freezing mid-motion as she saw him.

The guy from her past.

He walked into the store with the same casual swagger she remembered, his presence instantly filling the small space. Layla's stomach churned. She hadn't seen him in years, but she would never forget that face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the too-cocky smirk, the way his eyes swept over everything with a sense of entitlement.

He hadn't seen her yet. He was too busy browsing the vinyl section, his fingers flipping through records like he had all the time in the world. But Layla couldn't tear her eyes away. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, quick bursts. Memories rushed to the surface, unbidden and overwhelming. The arguments, the manipulation, the way he had twisted everything until she had doubted her own mind.

She hadn't expected to see him again—especially not here, in this quiet, safe space she had just begun to make her own.

Margaret's voice snapped her out of the haze. "Everything okay, Layla?"

Layla blinked, forcing herself to look away from him, her pulse still racing. "Uh, yeah," she muttered, her voice shaky. "Just... I'm fine."

Margaret didn't seem convinced but didn't push. Layla swallowed hard, trying to calm the whirlwind inside her. She couldn't fall apart here. Not in front of him. Not after all the progress she'd made.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay focused. Maybe he wouldn't notice her. Maybe he'd just leave, and she could go back to pretending that part of her life was over.

But, of course, life wasn't that kind.

As if sensing her eyes on him, the guy finally looked up. His gaze swept across the store before landing on Layla. For a second, his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to place her. And then, recognition dawned on his face.

His smirk widened. "Well, well. Look who it is."

Layla's blood ran cold. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice quieter than she wanted it to be.

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Just passing through. Didn't expect to run into you, though. What a small world."

Layla's heart raced, her mind scrambling for a way out of the conversation. She couldn't deal with this. Not now, not here. "I'm working," she said, her voice stiff. "You should leave."

He laughed, a low, mocking sound. "Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble." He took a step closer to the counter, and Layla instinctively stepped back. His smirk faded, replaced by something colder. "You still scared of me, huh?"

Layla clenched her jaw, refusing to let him see how much he rattled her. But inside, the familiar fear twisted in her gut, threatening to choke her. She wanted to be strong, to stand her ground, but his presence was suffocating, dragging her back to a place she had fought so hard to escape.

Margaret noticed the tension and stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Is everything all right here?"

The guy glanced at Margaret, his expression shifting back to casual indifference. "Just catching up with an old friend."

Layla swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I'm not your friend," she said quietly.

He held her stare for a moment, something dark flickering in his eyes, but then he shrugged and turned to leave. "Whatever. See you around, Layla."

As the door closed behind him, Layla released a shaky breath, her body trembling. Margaret stepped closer, her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"

Layla nodded, though she didn't feel okay. Not even close. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'll be fine."

But as she watched him disappear down the street, she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over.