Lorna Jenkins sat on the edge of her bed, the only sound in the room being the gentle hum of the old radiator in her apartment. It was too quiet in the evening. She had kicked off her heels at the door, and her therapist's voice was no longer there. All that remained was the woman below: reflective, worn out, and alone.
She gazed at the picture on her bedside table. It's not a romantic photo. Years ago, she was laughing at a summer festival with her younger sister. prior to everything changing.
Prior to Eric.
As though bringing herself back to the present, Lorna's fingers curled slightly around the edge of the bed.
She hadn't flinched when she said his name in two years.
Eric wasn't a monster at first. He had started off like most of them, charming, paying attention, and saying the right things at the right time. He had listened, brought her flowers, traced her skin with fingertips that would be used to bruise her months later, and whispered sweet dreams into her hair.
Lorna recalled the gradual disintegration: the fear masquerading as passion, the jealousy masquerading as love, and the manipulation masquerading as concern. And how she blamed herself when the mask eventually came off.
I raised my voice, which is why he shoved me.
He only wanted to keep me safe; he didn't mean to isolate me.
Perhaps he won't lose control again if I don't annoy him.
Perhaps.
She lived with that lie—until it almost cost her her life.
For the first time in years, she made the decision to choose herself the night she left him. With her phone in one hand and her broken ribs in the other, she ventured out into the pouring rain without a coat or shoes. She gave her sister a call. She made a police call. She made a lawyer's call.
She didn't, however, call love back.
It took time to rebuild trust. Too sluggish. Years later, she still hadn't allowed anyone inside. Not really. Her profession turned into her stronghold. Her patients took center stage. She was able to forget the cracks in her own foundation by healing others.
Right up until Michael Hudson.
Lorna rubbed her temples and let out a long breath. He was unique. His silence echoed hers, but not in a romantic way—not yet. Behind his coldness was pain. Not peril. Only walls.
She was frightened by that.
Not because she was incapable of managing him. But because she felt a desire to do so, something that she believed had died.
Shaking her head, she got up and walked to the tiny kitchen. Despite pouring herself a glass of wine, she chose not to sip it. Instead, she gazed at it, attempting to push away memories of sharp blue eyes and piano music from a past she didn't possess.
"Don't be distracted," she told herself.
He is a client. Nothing more.
Her purpose was to assist him. not come to his rescue. not sympathize with him.
Avoid falling for him.
However, as the rain drummed against her window, as it had done years before, Lorna became aware of something icy:
People were protected by walls.
But occasionally, they also kept you confined within.