I thought I saved him.
Six years ago, Marcus came back from Afghanistan broken, traumatized, plagued by nightmares. I was his therapist, walked him through every panic attack, broke every professional rule to fall for my own patient.
"Age is just a number," he used to say. "You saved my life, Sophia."
Now he tells his friends I'm "stale," that I'm too old at thirty-six, that my face shows wrinkles.
When I saw the bank transfers to Emma Wilson, when I discovered this 25-year-old grad student looks like a younger me, when I realized they're using my money for couples therapy workshops...
My hands are shaking.
Not from fear. From rage.
I thought I saved a broken man. Now I understand I just raised a monster.
He forgot one thing—
I still remember how to destroy a person.

He Called Me Stale, She's Only 25

Tom probably didn't expect me to say yes. Hell, I didn't expect to say yes.
But an hour later, I was walking into Boston General's psychiatric wing.
Tom looked stunned when he saw me. He quickly vacated his chair, gesturing for me to sit.
"I'll just... go get some air," he mumbled.
I frowned at ...

Chapter 9