My Peace (Beautifully Broken 5)

She feels soft and familiar, and when she turns to leave, I realize something.

She smells like honeysuckle.

“You never told me your name,” I point out as she leaves.

She pauses, staring over her shoulder.

“No, I guess I didn’t.”

She’s gone but the scent of honeysuckle remains, and I’m stunned, and it’s a coincidence.

“It’s a coincidence,” I say aloud. “I’m losing it.”

I’m just taking old feelings and pinning them on her, like wishful thinking.

I spend the afternoon thinking about the things she said, and pondering. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do have value.

Maybe I am worth it.

After group, I pull aside the main counselor. “I’d like to have one more individual session with my therapist, if that’s possible,” I tell her.

She stares at me, confused.

“You haven’t begun your individual therapy yet. That begins in week two.”

“But… I’ve been speaking to a woman,” I tell her. “Slim, blond, middle-aged, classy-looking.”

She shakes her head. “We don’t have anyone here who fits that description.”

“Are you sure?” I ask weakly.

“Quite,” she nods.

Somehow, I make it back to my room on my weak legs, and it still smells vaguely of honeysuckle inside. Light and soft, not the cloying scent that Natasha had worn. I look around, at the four walls and empty room.

“This can’t be,” I say aloud, because saying words aloud gives them power.

But I know for a fact that I’ve been speaking with someone. I’m not imagining it.

I’m shaky as I sit on the bed.

I’m shaky as I remember the past few days, and how familiar and warm I had felt while speaking with her. She made me feel comfortable. Safe. Secure. Like my subconscious was picking up things that I wasn’t.

I am overwhelmed. And while I’ve never believed in anything unexplainable, I want to believe in this. I want to believe that my mother was here.

It gives me hope, and hope is priceless.

I pick up the torn paper lying on my nightstand.

He’s worth it.

Maybe I am.

I pick up the phone.

I call my wife.

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