The counselor’s name was Dr. Elaine Foster.
She had a gentle voice and a habit of waiting patiently when I struggled to speak.
During our second appointment, she asked me a question that stayed with me.
“When you imagine the future, what do you want?”
I stared.
Nobody had asked me that in years.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
“That’s an honest place to start.”
I looked down.
“I used to paint.”
“Paint?”
“Watercolors. Mostly landscapes.”
“What happened?”
“Brandon said it was childish.”
Dr. Foster waited.
“He threw away my supplies when we moved into his house.”
My throat tightened.
“He said married women should have better priorities.”
The counselor nodded slowly.
“And what do you think?”
I looked at her.
For once, I didn’t automatically reach for Brandon’s answer.
“I think I miss painting.”
She smiled.
“Then perhaps that’s something worth remembering.”
That afternoon, Jasmine took me to an art supply store.
