Chapter 3

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NATHANIEL

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Another day, another tiring list of patients to take care of; Not that I hate my job- well a little but that is beside the point but I feel drained by the time the entire day comes to an end after listening to everyone else’s problems while mine is pushed to the very back of my head. I walk into my office, glancing at my assistant and giving her the best smile I could muster. She smiled back, before handing me the file of all the patients I’m supposed to see before noon.

I pour myself a cup of hot coffee, bringing the cup to my lips, taking a sip as the hot liquid burns my throat before settling down on the swivel chair and drinking the coffee again. Antoinette calls my office phone, asking if I’m ready and I give her a go ahead to allow the first patient come into my office. About a minute later, a woman of about fifty comes into the room, her light grey hair compliments the black of her eyes. She is wearing a white dress shirt, palazzo pants and block heels. She smiled at me, and I notice that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘Good morning’ she says, settling down on the seat across from me and placing her bag on the small coffee table on the right hand side of her seat. I took in the quick glance around my office but decide to not utter a word. ‘Morning’ I respond to her greeting and she smiles again for the third time in ten minutes.

‘Okay-let’s start, shall we?’ and her eyes widen in shock before it changes to that of realisation. She shakes her head violently ‘No, no-I’m not the one who needs your help at least not urgently’ she states, her voice sombre.

I furrow my brows in confusion and she takes that as her cue to explain further. ‘I’m here to seek your help for my daughter.’ She chokes a little on the last word and I get up to grab her a glass of water, which she gratefully takes and tilt it up to gulp it down her throat. Immediately she finishes her glass of water, I ask her ‘where is she?’ and she looks at me, her eyes turning a deeper shade of black. ‘She won’t come here’ she says quietly and I almost don’t hear her. Out of all the things I had pictured myself dealing with today, a sad mother coming to seek therapeutic help for her stubborn daughter wasn’t one of them. I rub my temple and look at her, she avoids my gaze and I understand how uncomfortable the situation must be for her.

‘How old is your daughter?’ I ask her, picking my notebook to start writing. ‘Twenty-seven’ she states and I hum in response, I look up at her from my notebook and her gaze is already trained on me. A minute pass as I allow her to gather her thoughts and I hear her sigh. ‘You can speak whenever you are ready’ I assure her and she nods, swallowing lightly. After a minute, she speaks and I sit up to pay close attention to her ‘About a year ago, my daughter’s fiancé was murdered on the day of their wedding in cold blood- right in front of her.’ Her lips shake and I know she is holding in her tears, her glassy eyes shine as the sunshine seeps in through my white curtains. ‘She didn’t cry or flinch when it happened….And she hasn’t been the same after that.’ Her eyes let go off the tears she has been holding in for a while as her body shakes. I stand up, remove a tissue and hand it to her ‘Thank you’ she whispers and I nod, going back to my seat, allowing her to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. After about five minutes, silence engulfs the room, swallowing the noise that came with her bitter wails.

‘Please help me save her.’ She whispered again and my brows furrowed in a frown and slowly morphed into confusion. ‘Madam…’ I breathe, not allowing her to speak as I immediately continued ‘In as much as I would like to help your daughter, she would have to willingly come for professional help. I can’t force a patient to accept therapy if they are not willing to.’ She opened her mouth to speak but I interrupt her by saying ‘there are cases where the legal guardian of the said patient can request a court order forcing her to receive therapy, and in those cases she should be harmful to herself and others. Is she suicidal? Or had she tried hurting you?’ I query her and she shakes her head, sniffing.

‘Well…in your case, there is only one solution.’ I tell her and she asks what, a glint of masked hope shinning in her black hues. ‘Your daughter would have to willingly come for my help. She has rights and one of them is to accept or decline treatment.’ My words fall out of my mouth and tightens my heart. I can’t shake the bile that rose in my throat after I saw the pain in her eyes when the words came out of my mouth; and immediately making me regret it. I walk towards her and crouch in front of her. She lets out a sob and several others follow until she is a mess, forcing me to act before thinking. I wrap my hands around her in an embrace that tightens my chest, taking out the air in my lungs. ‘She is all I have’ she sobs and I rub her back in a up and down motion. ‘She will lose her mind’ another sob. After a few minutes, she calms down and I pour her another glass of water.

That was definitely unprofessional. My subconscious whined and I pushed him out of my thoughts.

After another thirty minutes, she leaves me with the assurance that she will find a way to convince her to come for professional help. The rest of my day goes by in a blur, most of my thoughts being occupied by the woman and her daughter’s life. The woman’s love for her daughter makes me remember the painful truth that I have no mother’s love.