The Therapist’s Touch: 7. The Session of Trust

The day of her next session arrived too quietly.

Evelyn woke before dawn, her body already alert as though some part of her had been listening for the hour. The air in her apartment felt thinner, charged. She dressed slowly, choosing a pale sweater that covered her throat and wrists, as if fabric could contain what she carried beneath her skin.

By the time she reached his office, the corridors were still dim, the early light barely spilling through the glass. His door was ajar.

“Come in,” Dr. Cole said. His voice was low, warm, unhurried. She stepped inside.

The space was the same—soft lamplight, the faint scent of cedar—but something in the atmosphere had changed. The silence wasn’t empty anymore; it was waiting.

He studied her for a long moment. “You’ve been practicing.”

She nodded. “Every night.”

“Show me,” he said.

She inhaled, exhaled, steady and deep. The rhythm was his rhythm. His eyes followed the movement of her breath as if m