Page 24 of Ex- Factor

Dr. Bailey’s office was warm. Not in temperature, but in the way the light filtered through the blinds, and the familiar way he always said my name when I walked in.

Men weren’t supposed to notice things like that—the quiet kindness in a voice, the way a room could feel safe.

We were supposed to measure ourselves in grit and endurance, in how much we could carry without buckling.

Men were supposed to deal in silence. Cassius going to therapy changed my entire mindset.

I sat on the couch, leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, fingers twisted together.

“I think I’m ready to talk about them.”

Bailey tilted his head. “Your parents?”

“I think I hate them,” I said, voice low. “I grew up rich. Handsome, as you can see.” I tried to smile, but it felt cracked. “No limitations. Had everything most kids didn’t. Nanny. Private schools. Summer in the Alps, winter in the Keys.”

Bailey waited, pen resting on his pad but not moving.

“My nanny was Anna. She was from the Netherlands. Blonde, tall, quiet. She had a daughter, Freja, a couple years younger than me. My earliest memories—birthdays, holidays, even just nights watching cartoons—they were there.”

I swallowed.

“I was eleven when I walked into the sunroom and found my father on top of Anna.”

Bailey’s expression didn’t shift, but I felt the air in the room tighten.

“I knew she didn’t want it. My father told me not to say a word, and she backed him up. I kept it in.”

I ran my hand over my head.

“I was nineteen when I came home from school—don’t even remember why I stopped by.

I was never particularly close to my parents.

Lived the typical life of a rich kid: nannies, maids, empty rooms. My dad’s car was there at 9 a.m. I thought something was wrong.

” I paused, blinking down at my hands. “He was in the guest house. On top of Freja.”

Bailey exhaled. Quietly.

“She had just turned eighteen. She was crying.”

“I pummeled him. Threw chairs. Screamed. Told my mother everything. You know what she did?”

Bailey didn’t answer.

“Nothing. She told me to be quiet and said she’d handle it.”

I stood up. Started pacing.

“Anna didn’t show up the next day. I went to their house. She opened the door and said they’d signed an NDA. That they were being paid a few million dollars to stay quiet. She smiled like it was okay. Like it made up for it.”

I stopped in front of the window, jaw tight.

“Freja caught me in the driveway. She was a few weeks pregnant. Said it was my father’s. Said she was getting an abortion because he was making her—but it was okay.”

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I sat outside their house thinking about why I didn’t see it coming. Why I couldn’t save her. She was like a sister to me. He had been there when she was a child. He groomed her. All the presents and parties. I watched that.”

Bailey’s voice came gentle. “What did you do after?”

“I packed my shit. Dropped out. Refused to take a dime from them. Sold two properties my grandfather left me. Lived off that for years.” I finally sat down again, my throat raw. “I said fuck that money. Until Eshe.”

Bailey nodded. “Why until Eshe?”

I looked at him, heart heavy. “I took the inheritance. Because I thought, fuck it, they owe me. For every missed milestone, every birthday they bought their way out of. For fucking me up mentally. And I wanted to make sure Eshe never wanted for anything. I want to spoil her. I want her to quit her job so I can monopolize all her time.” I chuckled.

He was quiet.

“I didn’t think they’d show back up,” I said. “Didn’t think a money transfer would make them care again. But they came to my house. They saw Eshe. I didn’t even let them look at her.”

“You’ve carried this for a long time,” he said.

“Too long.”

“Any of your friends know?”

I shook my head. “Not even Eshe. I feel ashamed. Like my father’s crime is mine too.”

Bailey nodded slowly. “There’s no version of love that doesn’t come with risk, Silas. And what happened to Anna and Freja—what your parents did—is not your shame to carry.”

“I know that logically,” I whispered. “But it lives under my skin, in my chest, like it belongs to me.”

Bailey leaned back in his chair, set his notepad down. He looked at me like a friend—not a patient.

“Can I say something unprofessional?”

I blinked, startled. “Okay.”

He tapped his fingers against the armrest once. “Your parents are evil. Not complicated. Not misunderstood. Evil.”

My throat closed up.

“They don’t deserve your silence, and they damn sure don’t deserve to be the ones who make you question your worth.”

Something in me cracked. My chin trembled before I could stop it. A single tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it fast, but another followed. Then another.

Bailey didn’t say anything. Just let me sit there. Crying.

“I hate them,” I said finally, voice shaking. “I hate them so much.”

“And that’s okay.”

When the session ended, I stood up slowly, still wiping my face.

“Thanks,” I said, voice low.

He gave me a nod. He hadn’t written anything down, and I appreciated that.

When I stepped into the daylight outside, it felt a little warmer than before. I didn’t feel lighter—not yet. But I knew I would eventually.