The Therapist’s Touch: 5. The First Touch

Sleep had been a stranger to Evelyn all week.

Every night she’d repeated the ritual, palm over her heart, whispering the words Dr. Cole had given her. At first, it had felt like a mantra—obedience rendered in sound. By the third night, it was a tether. By the fifth, it was a craving. Her hand no longer rested lightly on her chest; it pressed there like she was trying to hold him inside her.

When Friday arrived, she was shaking before she even reached his office.

Dr. Cole was waiting. Always waiting. His presence filled the space like a shadow that knew her shape.

“Evelyn,” he said softly, and the sound of her name was already an invitation. “Close the door.”

She obeyed without thinking.

“Did you practice?” His tone was neither casual nor curious. It was an assessment. A weighing.

“Yes, Dr. Cole.”

“How many times?”

Her eyes darted to the floor. “Every night.”

“And what did you feel?”

Her throat worked. “Owned.”