Page 61 of Becoming Us

He leaned back in his chair. “You two are in a relationship. That means two people have to work to make it last. This isn’t all on you.”

“Atty’s trying. Just the fact that he’s here…” I looked down at my knees, tugging at a loose thread on my sweats. “He’s trying.”

“And you’re not?”

“I am!” The words came too fast, too sharp. “I’m trying all the fucking time. I just—I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to get us back to how things were before I ruined everything.”

“Ah.” He clicked his tongue, nodding slowly, giving me one of those infuriating little smiles. “There it is.”

“What? What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’m about to give you a hard truth. You ready for it?”

I shifted and gave a reluctant nod.

“You can’t go back,” he said plainly.

I blinked.

“Life doesn’t work in reverse.” He paused, letting that sink in.

A lump formed in my throat. So that was it? Just give up? Let go? Was I supposed to believe things would never be good again?

“I can see you spiraling,” he said gently.

I met his eyes. “It’s not exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“That’s not what therapy is for. If you can’t go backward, what can you do?”

I stared out the window. “Go forward.”

He nodded slowly, silently.

“I don’t want to move on without him.”

“What makes you think you’d have to?”

I raised a brow. “You’re really leaning into the mystical guru vibe today.”

His smile stretched slightly, then softened. “Moving forward doesn’t mean moving on without him. It meansmoving forward. Your relationship can’t return to what it used to be because neither of you is the same. It’s going to change. And the more you cling to what was, the more you prevent it from becoming what it’s meant to be.”

“What if what it’s meant to be is us not being together?”

“Then you have to accept that.”

I shook my head.

“You can’t control how he feels, Noah. You can censor yourself all you want, but in the end, that’s only going to harmboth of you. If he can’t love you for who you are, then maybe you’re not supposed to be together.”

“I’m trying to change…”

“Changing isn’t about erasing yourself,” Samuel said. “Or making yourself smaller.”

“Then what is it about?”

“Learning. Finding different pathways. New rhythms.”

I shook my head again. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” My voice was small, and I hated how it sounded—fragile, like something about to crack. “If it’s not the fights, or the lies, or the drugs… I don’t know what’s still not working. I don’t know what I’m doing wrongnow.” My eyes burned, and I rubbed my hands over them again, trying to stop the sting before it spilled.