The Therapist’s Touch: 3. The Body Remembers

Evelyn hadn’t meant to arrive early.

But her nerves had woken her before dawn, and by mid-morning she was already outside his office, sitting in her car with her hands clenched on the steering wheel. She hated how much she wanted to be here. Hated how her body hummed at the thought of his voice, his hands, the way he looked at her like he could see every fracture inside her.

When the clock struck the hour, she forced herself out of the car.

“Evelyn,” Dr. Cole greeted, his voice that same low rumble that seemed to vibrate beneath her skin. “Punctual. I like that.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She felt like a child praised by a teacher, desperate for another crumb of approval.

This time, the office felt smaller. Or maybe he had arranged it differently. His chair was angled closer to hers, and the lighting was softer, shadows stretching like secrets across the rug.

“Sit,” he said.

She obeyed, her skirt whispering against her thighs as she lowered