A Distraction
I sat on the couch in my therapist office, staring at the floor.
The air felt too still. The walls, painted in neutral tones, felt too sterile.
I had been here before.
So many times.
But today, the room felt smaller. Like the walls were closing in.
Dr. Muller Marie watched me carefully. She didn’t speak. She just waited.
She always did that.
She never pushed.
But today, I wanted her to push.
Because I didn’t know where to start.
So I said the first thing that came to mind.
“I think I’m unraveling.”
Marie tilted her head slightly. “Tell me why.”
I swallowed.
Then it all spilled out.
Rowan. The attack. The threats.
The plane crash.
Claire’s death.
The funeral coming up.
The fact that I had no idea how to function anymore.
I talked until my throat was dry, and even then, it still felt like there was more.
Marie listened without interrupting, her eyes steady.
When I finally stopped, she leaned forward slightly.
“You’ve been holding all of this in,” she said. “That’s a lot, Remi. Too much.”
I laughed, but it came out hollow. “No shit.”
She didn’t react. Just nodded. “Tell me—what’s the hardest part?”
I exhaled sharply. “Everything.”
She waited.
I sighed. “Claire. The funeral. I keep thinking… what if she wakes up? What if this is all some kind of cruel joke? I tell her everything. When she is going through a lot I am there. When I am going through a lot she is there and now suddenly I feel like my other half is gone.”
Marie nodded, as if she understood. “That’s a normal reaction to grief.”
I clenched my fists. “It doesn’t feel normal. It feels like I’m losing my mind.”
Her expression softened. “You’re not.”
I looked away. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
Marie was silent for a moment.
Then, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small white card.
She slid it across the table toward me.
I frowned, picking it up.
It was an invitation.
A gala.
I read the fine print.
Annual Charity Gala for Medical Advancements.
The event was being hosted by some of the biggest names in medicine—hospital directors, research leaders, pharmaceutical giants.
I looked back up at Marie. “What is this?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “A distraction.”
I frowned. “I don’t need a distraction.”
“You need something,” she said gently. “You’re drowning, Remi.”
I inhaled sharply. “I don’t think a fancy party is going to fix that.”
Marie smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But it might remind you of who you are outside of grief.”
I stared at the card.
I didn’t want to go.
Didn’t want to pretend to be okay when I wasn’t.
But at the same time…
The idea of sitting alone in my apartment, spiraling, wasn’t exactly appealing either.
Marie leaned back. “You don’t have to decide now. Just think about it.”
I nodded slowly.
Think about it.
Right.
Like my brain wasn’t already a mess.
Marie’s voice softened. “And Remi?”
I looked at her.
“You’re allowed to live.”
I flinched.
Because a part of me felt like I wasn’t.
Like moving forward meant leaving Claire behind.
Marie must have seen it on my face because she added, “Living doesn’t mean forgetting.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I said nothing.
Because I didn’t know how to believe that yet.
\---
Later That Night
I sat at my kitchen table, staring at the invitation.
The edges were crisp, the lettering elegant.
My fingers traced the embossed gold lettering.
Annual Charity Gala.
It would be a high-profile event.
Doctors, investors, CEOs.
People who could help fund my research.
People who could help me make a difference.
Jo walked in, holding a glass of wine.
She stopped when she saw the invitation.
Then she grinned. “Oh, you’re going.”
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “I haven’t decided.”
She plopped down across from me. “You have decided. You just don’t want to admit it.”
I shot her a look. “I don’t have a dress.”
Jo took a dramatic sip of her wine. “I know a guy.”
I sighed.
She beamed. “We’re going dress shopping tomorrow.”
I forced a smile.
Jo patted my shoulder. “I am sure everything would be fine. I trust you.”
I chuckled. “Yeah…maybe a distraction would do me good.”
I know she didn't want to bring my mood down. I haven't chuckled. Laughed. Smiled in days. I couldn't sleep, all I saw was Claire. And her dying.
It broke me Everytime.
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