A cozy afternoon with Doc part two

Doc’s arms around me felt safe—too safe. The kind of safety that tempts you to stop questioning, to let your guard down completely. But even as I leaned into his chest, inhaling the warm, clean scent of him, my mind was running. Not away from him… but toward the truth I hadn’t yet spoken.

I wanted to believe him. That this time would be real. That love could be enough. That the tangled mess inside my heart could somehow, eventually, unravel.

But love wasn’t the issue. It was trust. Not in Doc—he’d proven himself again and again—but in myself. In my ability to choose the right kind of love this time.

I pulled away gently and turned toward the counter, needing something to anchor me. Anthony’s sippy cup sat beside the cutting board. I picked it up, thumbed the little spout, and stared out the kitchen window where the afternoon light had begun to soften.

“Are you okay?” Doc asked behind me, his voice low.

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice.

He stepped closer, not touching me this time. Waiting.

“It’s not you,” I finally said, eyes still fixed on the backyard. “It’s just… everything. I feel like I’m still living in pieces.”

“I don’t need you whole,” he said softly. “Just honest.”

That nearly undid me.

I turned to face him. “I don’t know what this is yet. I don’t know if I can give you the kind of love you’re ready for. I don’t want to lie to you or to myself. I’m still mourning something I never really had.”

Doc nodded slowly, absorbing it without flinching. “You don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

And I believed him. That was part of what made it so hard.

He reached out, this time just brushing his knuckles along my arm. “You gave so much of yourself to survive, Andy. Maybe now it’s time to figure out what you want, not just what you need to endure.”

I swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill. “And what if I don’t know the difference?”

“Then we figure it out together.”

Together. It sounded beautiful and terrifying.

Just then, the sound of tiny footsteps pounded through the hall. Anthony burst back into the kitchen, holding one of his stuffed animals triumphantly over his head.

“Mama! Look! Bear got a boo-boo, but I fixed him!”

He ran to me, shoving the plush toy into my hands. There was a Band-Aid wrapped clumsily around its arm. I crouched down to his level, my body wincing but my heart full.

“You’re a good doctor,” I said, brushing his curls back from his forehead.

He beamed. “Like Doc!”

I looked up at Doc, who smiled but didn’t say anything. We shared a look—one filled with unspoken things. Affection. Hesitation. Hope.

Later that evening, after a quiet dinner and bedtime routines that ended with Anthony fast asleep in his nursery, I found myself outside on the back porch, wrapped in one of Doc’s oversized sweaters. The stars were peeking through the inky sky, and the air smelled like pine and something familiar I couldn’t quite name.

Joe stepped out quietly, a cup of tea in his hands. He gave it to me.

“I figured you might need something warm,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, wrapping my fingers around the mug.

He sat down beside me, not too close, just there.

“You look better,” he said. “Stronger.”

“I’m trying.”

We sat in silence for a while.

“Doc’s a good man,” he finally said.

I turned my head toward him. “I know.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s simple.”

That surprised me.

Joe glanced at me; his expression unreadable. “People think love is the hard part. But it’s not. It’s what comes after. The reckoning. The choosing every day. The healing.”

I looked down into my tea. “What if I can’t choose yet?”

“Then don’t,” he said. “Not yet. Don’t force yourself into a forever when your heart is still mid-sentence.”

His words settled around me like a blanket. Gentle. True.

“Thanks, Joe,” I whispered.

He gave me a half-smile. “Anytime. You’ve got people, Andy. You’re not alone.”

And for the first time in a long while, I started to believe it.