"I'm sorry, Isabella. I shouldn't judge, but I have some years on you, some experience… I'd hate to see you get hurt. You're working so hard I wouldn't want to see your efforts go to waste."

I smile.

"It might make me understand a little better if you could tell me about what happened?" I try, shifting in my seat.

Esme sighs and her perfect, professional exterior cracks. She's human and makes mistakes like any of us, except she's burdened with the fact that it's her job to help people with their mistakes. I wonder if anyone is ever there for her, if she sees a shrink. I bet she should with all the stories she hears.

"I know I'm not like most psychiatrists. I like interaction and in order to build trust, I share bits of my own life. So I will actually trust you with this part of my past." Her smile is a tad sad, but she puts the notebook on her lap and plays with her pen.

"There was a guy, as there always is. He was a little older than me, he was exciting and everything I have ever looked for in a partner. Except," She takes a deep breath. "He was married," I say nothing because I don't judge people like that. "I let myself be the other woman, knowing that I was hurting someone, but too wrapped up in my own happiness that I wouldn't let it get to me." She stares in the distance.

"He was a textbook player who promised me he'd divorce his wife, be with me. He's a very well-renowned surgeon, long hours, away from home… So his wife never noticed while he snuck off to one of his houses with me."

"Wow, he sounds like a dick." I blurt out.

Esme chuckles.

"He kinda is. But he left me standing at Grand Central with my suitcase and never showed up when we planned to go out of town. When I called him, angry, he told me his wife just got diagnosed with breast cancer. He couldn't leave her, respected her too much for that, even though they fell out of love a long time ago. I get that, but it still hurts. Ending up alone again, it's always the same sad story, you know?" I nod and feel her pain.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"And yes, the assholes are the worst. They lure you in until they have you wrapped around their fingers and then drop you." She shrugs.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"Do you think AA is a cult?"

Esme laughs, for real.

"I wouldn't say cult. But it doesn't work for everyone. Did you like going?"

"Hmm… I don't know. The people were kinda weird and sad and the vibe seemed off, sorta." I remember Masen's words. I don't want to be another sad, pathetic, depressed AA-goer.

"It's more about going in and talking and finding kindred spirits, honestly. It's about getting in control and asking for help when it gets too much. But you said that guy was your sponsor, right?"

I nod.

"You talk to him often?"

"I saw him today. He stays at the hotel I work at."

"Oh, small world… But did you talk to him about that? Maybe you'd benefit more from having your friends around, coming to see me and talk to him — since he's been through it himself."

"Yeah, he agrees. But we haven't discussed it a lot. We just met." I bite my lip. Instead of talking to him, I stuck my tongue into his mouth and almost dry-humped him.

"I'm afraid we're running out of time, sweetheart. But you have my number, I want you to call me tomorrow. We're walking the dogs, okay?"

My eyes grow wide.

"What? Really?"

"We'll figure it all out together, Isabella. You and me."

I believe her.