Author's Note: I am not an expert in therapy, counseling, or the law, and I chose not to spend excessive time researching those topics going into this chapter. Instead, I decided to write the story I wanted to and let the realism chips fall where they may. Hopefully, any errors I've made will not detract significantly from the narrative for those of you who possess greater knowledge in these fields. Additionally, this chapter features a slow-moving narrative, with not a lot of action. If that does not appeal to you, you may prefer to skip this section entirely and consider the story concluded after Chapter 2. As I mentioned earlier, I believe that ending is acceptable, despite the unresolved plot points. As always, all sexual situations involve characters who are eighteen years of age or older.
I could feel my hand trembling as I approached the doctor's office and turned the handle to open the door. While therapy is widely accepted by many today, I grew up in a household where seeking this type of help was severely frowned upon. That wasn't the only reason my eyes were darting around anxiously as I neared the office however; after being back home for only a month, I still struggled to be around others, especially in large groups. I believe they call it anthropophobia, a fear of being around people, or perhaps it was scopophobia, the sensation of always being watched. Regardless, I had never experienced anything like this before. All I knew was that I had resisted every effort by John to persuade me to see someone until now, but more on that later.
"Hello, may I help you?" the young man at the reception desk asked. He appeared to be in his early twenties but seemed professional enough in his demeanor and attire. More importantly, he had a charming smile and a kind face, which helped put me at ease. The absence of anyone else around also gave me the confidence to compose myself and proceed.
"Hi, I have an appointment... Mrs. Morris," I said hesitantly.
"Oh yes, you're right on time," the receptionist said, gesturing as he stood up from behind his desk. "Follow me."
I glanced around as we walked to the back, uncertain of what to make of this place. While I wasn't entirely sure what a therapist's office should look like, this resembled a high-priced lawyer's office more than anything else, if that makes sense. In any case, I followed my guide until we reached the very end, passing several closed rooms along the way. This space was much larger than I had anticipated, especially since I believed Dr. Bartlet worked here alone. I waited in her office for about ten minutes before she finally appeared.
"Hi Abby, nice to meet you," she said, displaying the same warm smile and friendly demeanor that I had encountered with the receptionist.
"Um... nice to meet you too, Doctor," I replied meekly.
"Please, call me Tracy," she said.
"Okay, thanks, Tracy." As much as I'd learned to emotionally shield myself in situations like this, there was something undeniably charming about this woman. With some extra effort, I managed to calm myself down significantly. I knew almost nothing about her, not even what she looked like before today. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, was well-dressed in khaki slacks and oxford boots, and was quite attractive as well. Not exactly what I had expected from a therapist, but then again, I wasn't sure what I would find here either.
"You were hesitant to share much about your reasons for coming here during the pre-screening interview, but I have a pretty good idea," Tracy said. "After all, not many famous people walk through my door."
"That's the last thing I ever wanted to be," I deadpanned back. Being rescued after ten years lost at sea had transformed us into overnight celebrities, attracting numerous interview requests from the media and even lucrative offers for book and movie deals. However, both Daniel and I shunned the attention, striving to return to a simple and relatively normal lifestyle. Nevertheless, we remained the subjects of several articles and news reports, many of which speculated on how we had managed to survive in such primitive conditions.
"All I care about now is putting my life back together and doing what I can to help my son reintegrate into normal society," I added.
"I would have preferred it if your son were seeing me as well, either alone or, better yet, both of you together here, Tracy said. "That's how couples therapy usually works."
Her last phrase left me wide-eyed in astonishment, and I remained stunned until Tracy continued speaking.
"Oh please, Abby, let's not pretend otherwise. That's why you're here, isn't it? You're not the only famous person in the room--or, more accurately in my case, infamous."
"I'd... I'd heard a little about you, but not much," I replied cautiously.
"In that case, I'll fill you in," Tracy replied matter-of-factly. "I used to be a licensed therapist, just as I once was a doctor. I was well-respected in my field, in fact, but not anymore."
"So what happened?" I asked.
"A few years ago, I sat for an interview with a psychology journal, and in that interview, I discussed a patient to whom I had given the pseudonym Sarah. She was forty-eight, divorced, and attempting to piece together a love life marked by a series of failed relationships. Sarah had always maintained a very close connection with her twenty-five-year-old son, however, the only person with whom she had experienced a truly loving relationship as an adult. As our sessions progressed, she became increasingly aware that her feelings for him were more than platonic. Eventually, Sarah found the courage to ask me what I thought about her pursuing a romantic relationship with him."
"What did you tell her?" I asked cautiously.
"I warned her about the pitfalls of any such romance, but unlike what most doctors might advise, I didn't entirely discourage Sarah either. Instead, we engaged in an open discussion about the pros and cons of such a relationship. After meeting with both of them a few times, I gave them my blessing to continue."
"Pros and cons?" I asked incredulously. "I never thought a doctor would suggest there were pros about such a thing."
"Now you understand why I'm not one anymore," she said flatly. " And why I don't hold a therapist's license either. Just so we're clear, Abby, this is strictly a 'life-coaching' office only. I'm not officially a doctor or a therapist anymore, if that's what you were looking for."
"What's the difference?"
"One requires a government license, the other does not," Tracy replied dryly.
"I'm still confused by all of this," I said. "You lost your degree and your license over something you said in an article?"
"Actually, I could have retained both and only suffered a stern reprimand if I had retracted everything I said, but I chose not to. Just like I could have remained silent and not mentioned Sarah at all during the interview. I knew how they would respond to it from the very beginning."
"Now I'm even more confused," I said.
"I did it on purpose, Abby. I knew there were many more 'Sarahs' out there who needed help, and this was my way of extending a lifeline to them. Tracy Bartlet, the infamous doctor that was stripped of her license for advising a patient to sleep with her son. That's why you sought me out in the first place, isn't it? That's how this usually goes."
"Usually?" I asked in surprise. "You mean people come to you regularly asking if they can commit incest?"
