The question hung in the air.

I could lie. Should lie.

"Yes." The word came out broken. "God yes. But that doesn't mean—"

"It means everything."

She crossed to me. Stood in front of my chair. Close enough that I could smell her perfume.

"I've spent eight weeks testing you," she said softly. "Pushing you. Trying to make you break. Because I wanted to know if you felt the same way I did. If I was crazy for wanting my therapist."

"You're not crazy."

"Then why does it feel like I am?"

I stood up. Knew I needed distance but couldn't seem to make myself move away from her.

"Because...