"I've been thinking about what you said last time, Dr. Matthews. About how we create our own prisons."
"And what conclusions have you drawn?"
"That maybe I've built mine out of maybes and what-ifs. Fifteen years of them, stacked like bricks."
"Fifteen years is a very specific number."
"You know why. You've read my file. August 12th, 2009. The day I decided not to get in that car."
"The day you chose not to drive your sister to her interview."
"The day she took a taxi instead. The day that taxi driver fell asleep at the wheel. The day I... the day I became the brother who didn't save her."
"You believe you could have prevented the accident?"
"I know exactly how it would have gone. I'd have picked her up at 7:15. We'd have stopped for coffee at Murphy's like we always did. She'd have made it to her interview by 9:00."
"Instead of..."
"Instead of the taxi getting there late, making her anxious about the time, making the driver rush. God, she was always so punctual. Being late would have killed her even if... even if nothing else had."
"You've never told me before – what made you decide not to drive her that day?"
"I had a presentation at work. First big client meeting. Couldn't reschedule, couldn't be late. Sarah said she understood. She always understood everything."
"And now?"
"Now I understand that no presentation, no job, no anything was worth... worth..."
"Take your time."
"You know what the cruel part is? I nailed that presentation. Got the promotion. The corner office. Everything I thought I wanted. And every time I look out that window, all I see is her face in the rear-view mirror from all the other times I did drive her places."
"What do you see in her expression in these memories?"
"Trust. Complete trust. Like when we were kids and I'd carry her on my shoulders through the deep snow. 'Don't drop me, Danny,' she'd say. And I never did. Not until..."
"Until August 12th?"
"Yeah. Except I didn't just drop her, did I? I wasn't even there to try catching her."
"Have you considered that Sarah made her own choice that day?"
"What do you mean?"
"She chose to take the taxi. She was an adult, making an adult decision."
"Because I forced her to! Because I put my stupid career first!"
"Did you force her? Or did she, as you said earlier, understand?"
"Understanding something doesn't make it right. Understanding doesn't bring her back."
"No. It doesn't. But understanding might help you see that you're not just carrying grief, Daniel. You're carrying guilt that isn't yours to bear."
"Then whose is it? The taxi driver's? He died in the crash too. Sarah's, for not insisting I drive her? The universe's?"
"Do you really believe tragedy has to be someone's fault?"
"...no. Yes. I don't know anymore. Fifteen years of not knowing."
"Today's session is different, isn't it? You're saying things you've never said before."
"Because it's our last one. You're retiring."
"Yes. After twenty-seven years."
"I've been your patient for more than half of those. Longer than some marriages last."
"You were one of my first patients when I opened this practice."
"And now you're leaving too."
"Is that what's troubling you today? Another loss?"
"Maybe. No. I don't know. It's more like... like I'm losing the only other person who really knows her anymore. Who knows what I lost."
"Tell me about her. Not about August 12th. Tell me about Sarah."
"She... she used to sing in the shower. Terrible pop songs from the 90s. Used to drive our parents crazy. And she couldn't cook to save her life, but she made these amazing chocolate chip cookies. Just those. Nothing else. Like she'd used up all her culinary talent on that one recipe."
"What else?"
"She collected elephant figurines. Said they were good luck because their trunks pointed up. Had dozens of them on her windowsill. After... after everything, I couldn't bring myself to pack them up. They're still there, in her old room at Mom and Dad's. Gathering dust."
"That's not all they're gathering, are they?"
"What do you mean?"
"They're gathering memories. Keeping them safe. Like you've been doing."
"But memories aren't enough, are they? They don't change anything."
"Don't they? The Daniel who walked into my office fifteen years ago could barely speak Sarah's name. Now you're telling me about her songs, her cookies, her elephants."
"Because you taught me how."
"No. Because you learned how. There's a difference."
"And now I have to learn how to do it without you?"
"Do you think you're ready?"
"No. But... but Sarah would say I am. She always believed in me more than I believed in myself."
"Perhaps it's time you proved her right."
"Is that what all these years of therapy have been building toward? Learning to believe what Sarah believed?"
"What do you think?"
"I think... I think maybe it's not about believing what she believed. Maybe it's about believing despite what happened. Like those elephants with their trunks up. Choosing to believe in luck even in an unlucky world."
"That's quite an insight for our final session."
"Yeah, well, I've been practicing for fifteen years."
"And what will you practice now?"
"Living, I guess. Actually living, not just... not just surviving. Sarah would've wanted that."
"And what do you want?"
"I want... I want to remember her without it hurting quite so much. I want to think about her singing in the shower and smile instead of cry. I want to learn to make those damn cookies."
"That sounds like a good place to start."
"A good place to end, too. Our sessions, I mean."
"Every ending is just a different kind of beginning, Daniel."
"Now you sound like Sarah. She loved those kinds of sayings."
"What would she say about today?"
"She'd probably say... 'Danny, you're finally getting out of your own way.'"
"And what would you say back to her?"
"I'd say... 'I miss you, kid. Every day. But I'm learning to carry you differently now.'"
"That feels like a good place to end."
"Yeah. Yeah, it does. Dr. Matthews?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For everything."
"Thank you, Daniel. For trusting me with Sarah's memory. And your own."
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