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The last place Wesley thought Sadie would turn up was in therapy ordered by a judge. But there she was, and here he is. Attendees went around the circle,
revealing why the judge was fit to order a wake-up call for emotional intelligence. The only problem is that Wesley is the therapist. And Sadie was an old flame, a flame he let down easily, with a crushing blow to his self-esteem. Their split was before he finished school and worked as a licensed counselor.
Sadie’s heels echoed as she crossed the room. Sadie paused, and the color drained from her pale face. Wesley stood and offered Sadie a seat. “Please, have a seat, ma’am,” Wesley said, as though he had no idea who the woman was. He adjusted his dark tie.
“So,” he shrugged, tapping his pen on a notepad, “who wants to go first?”
The group looked down, avoiding eye contact like the plague. One man slumped in his chair with her arms folded. He was clean-shaven and wearing a suit.
A hand shot up. “I’ll go first,” Sadie said.
“Yes, ma’am?” Wesley said, shifting in his chair to face her.
“I liked this guy,” she said. “It was a long time ago.”
“That’s your issue?” a man said.
People chuckled lightly.
Sadie brought her hand to her oval face, tucking a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear. “I know it sounds silly,” she said.
“I haven’t seen your paperwork,” Wesley replied. “Is that why you’re here?”
Sadie leaned forward, then sat back, crossing her legs and revealing her pale, slender legs above her tall, dark boots, which complemented her navy skirt.
“Most of us are here for anger management,” a man said, his voice laced with irritation.
“I can get mad,” Sadie said. “Rrrr…” She lifted her hands, making a clawing motion.
People laughed again.
“I’m here because I love someone, and I hurt them.”
“Welcome to the madness, girl.” a woman said, smoking a cigarette.
“I heard the man I loved more than anything,” Sadie said.
“You’ve got to make it right,” a man said.
“That’s why I’m here,” Sadie said, shifting her gaze to Wesley. “I want to make this right.”
“And how would you do that?” Wesley said.
“I figured this was a first step, right, guys?” She lifted her hands and shifted her gaze. “It starts with admitting our mistakes.”
“That’s right, girl!”
Everyone engaged in brainstorming not only Sadie’s life, but their own lives.
“I should listen to my wife more,” a man said, brushing a single tear with his finger.
“I should trust my husband more,” a woman said.
“I should take out the trash when my old lady complains,” another guy said.
“And I should tell you I’m sorry,” Sadie said, looking at Wesley. “I was wrong,” she said.
Wesley’s fingers trembled as he slid off his glasses, the world going blurry before he dabbed at his eyes. For a moment, he wasn’t the therapist—he was the young man Sadie had once loved, desperate not to lose her again.
“You were wrong,” he said finally, voice thick with unspoken memories.
The smoking woman exhaled a plume of smoke. “Isn’t that what you preach, Doc? Forgiveness.”
Wesley managed a shaky smile. “I forgive you, Sadie,” he said, meaning it more than he thought possible, “but trust is something we’ll have to build together. Slowly.”
Thanksgiving was ten days away, and they had much to be thankful for.

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BIO: AC is a veteran of the 82nd Airborne Division. During college, he read a Raymond Carver book and discovered his passion for writing. AC graduated from a community college and earned a bachelor’s degree from a seminary. He worked for a nonprofit for fourteen years and in several school districts.

My website: https://writeovercoffee.blog/