I wasn't able to attend the father-daughter dances that the other girls went to. My dad wasn't around to scare off my male school friends who he thought might be interested in me. I didn't learn how to drive with my dad. He couldn't help me with Mum. He couldn't save me from a lot of what happened. A lot would be different if he had never left.
"I think so. I was really close to my dad. And when he left, it sort of messed me up inside. I didn't want to trust people and let them in. I didn't want to be myself around anyone, because they might leave like he did. He walked away so easily, like we were nothing. It scares me that it could happen again one day."
"I can't help but see the parallels here." I give her a somewhat confused look before she presses on. "Your father left you and your mother out of nowhere, without an explanation. And you've just ended a relationship that you cared very deeply about in a similar way."
I quickly cut in. "But it was a tough decision for me, and it wasn't his fault. I knew that one day I was going to hurt him, and so I left him to save him the trouble and pain."
"Perhaps your father thought the same thing," Dr. Lawrence replies calmly without skipping a beat. I let her words wash over me as my eyes begin to sting.
"From what I see, you had two people who you loved and cared for so very much. One of them left, and one of them became unwell. Neither of those things happened because of you. None of this is your fault, and yet it fell to you to look after not only yourself but also your mother. You are a good person, Amelia, a good person who deserves to be loved and cared for."
"I don't think I'm a good person," I practically whisper. Her poker face breaks, and a wave of sadness and empathy washes over her expression. And it breaks me. I begin to sob into my hands. If I'm such a great person, then why did my dad leave? Why did my mum get so sick? Why could I not help her? And why has she never acknowledged what I went through alongside her?
I feel the couch dip down next to me as a hand begins to rub my shoulder. I try to keep the noise as quiet as I can, but there's only so much I can do. Eventually, I pull my hands away to pick up a tissue from the box in front of me and start to pat my face dry. The tears are still falling.