He Stopped Protecting Me When She Came Back

In the third year after my severe depression diagnosis, Roderick Sanchez was the only reason I stayed alive.

He cleared every sharp object out of the apartment, put a safety rail on the balcony, and even left the bathroom door open a crack while I showered.

"Take your time. I'll wait for you to get better."

Until Florence Swanson came back from abroad.

She'd studied psychology, and she said Roderick was locking me into my role as a patient.

"The more you protect her, the more she believes something's wrong with her."

Roderick was silent for a whole night.