Behind Closed Doors

I stood in front of the door, just watching it. Oak, double doors—warm and inviting. I didn’t want to go in, but I knew I had to.

The door swung open, and a friendly face greeted me.

“Hello, Jen,” she smiled. “Come on in.”

The room was exactly as it needed to be. Neat. A blue couch ran along the left wall, with two chairs on the opposite side. The paintings—trees and fields. Beige walls, because what else would a therapist’s office have?

She took her usual seat in the left chair. I settled onto the right side of the couch as she asked, “So, how’s it going?”

How’s it going? How do I even begin?

I shrugged slightly and said, “This week’s been… a lot.”

“How so?” she asked, pushing her blonde hair out of her face.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure how to say it.”

She watched me with no perceivable expression as I tried to gather my words.

“That’s okay, you can take your time.”

I took a deep breath, my fingers tapping the couch’s armrest. “I guess I’ll start with Monday when I found some things missing at home.”

Her eyebrow raised, just like it always did when I finally started to let my guard down. The weight of the situation started to hit me, and for a moment, I wondered if I was overreacting. The walls seemed to feel closer all of a sudden. The air conditioner kicked on, its hum pulling me back to the moment.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a neat person,” I continued, “but I still know where things are. When I was trying to find my car registration, I noticed some papers were outside the file folders.”

“Okay, maybe Grant was looking for something?” she interjected, her voice calm.

“No, I asked him if he was in the file box, and he said he hadn’t.”

I shifted in my seat. “I thought it was weird, so I started looking around. The papers weren’t the only things out of place. My favorite pen—gone. The book I’d been reading—moved. Little things. But enough to make me question it.”

“What do you think happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, swallowing hard. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I keep thinking… what if someone came in? What if they took something?”

I could feel the tension building in my chest. I was finally letting the feelings hit me. “I keep feeling like someone’s been in my space. Like they’ve been going through my things. I even thought I saw someone outside my window the other night but the cameras didn’t pick anything up.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask if I was sure or if I was overthinking it — as a good therapist does. Instead, she just sat there, watching me, her green eyes focused.

“Have you noticed anything else?”

I paused, trying to keep my composure, but the doubt was creeping in. Maybe I was just imagining it. I glanced around the room, the soft beige walls and the calm paintings of trees and fields doing little to comfort me now. The air felt heavier. “Yeah,” I said, voice quieter now. “There’s something… off. Not just with the house. With me. It’s like I’m noticing things that weren’t there before. I don’t know. It sounds crazy.”

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “No, Jen, it doesn’t sound crazy. You’re just feeling a little… unbalanced. That’s okay, and it makes perfect sense after everything you’ve been through.”

I nodded, but the feeling didn’t go away. It was like a dark cloud hovering over me, suffocating.

“I know Grant is hiding something from me,” I blurted out, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Her smile didn’t falter, and she didn’t react the way I expected. She just watched me, her eyes unwavering. She always knew exactly how to make me feel like I was the one in control of the conversation. But today, something was off.

“He’s been home late from work this entire week, saying he’s had to work overtime. But his job doesn’t require overtime. He can clock out at 5pm every day and leave work at work.”

She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way. “Okay, so let’s go down this road. If he is hiding something from you, what do you think it is?”

I folded my hands together, almost tighter than my brows were knitted. I shrugged again and let out a sigh. “I just feel like something is going to happen.”

“Do you feel safe?” she asked, her voice was even.

“I think so? It’s hard to say because nothing has really happened.”

“Okay, well, you have my number if anything concrete comes up. Do you have a friend to call if you need to talk to someone before the next session?”

She knows I do. I’ve been seeing my therapist for three years now. She practically knows the people in my life as much as I do.

“Yes, I can call Sarah.”

“Great, well, keep me updated. We can talk more on this next session. I encourage you to ask Grant for clarification if you’re still worried about it.”

I nodded and stood up as our session was ending.

“Oh, and Jen?” she stopped me.

I turned to look at her sitting in the chair facing me.

“Lock your doors.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. They weren’t said with concern or comfort. It was like she was telling me something I needed to hear, something that had been left unsaid.

I froze, halfway out the door, and looked back at her. She wasn’t smiling anymore, her face was… different. The room suddenly felt even colder. I turned to leave, but something caught my eye.

She was wearing a necklace. A chain with a ruby pendant. My necklace.

I blinked, my heart skipping. It wasn’t possible. I had that exact necklace—worn it every day for years but took it off before going on vacation two weekends ago. I was certain of it. But she was wearing it now. My necklace, hanging from her neck like it was a casual accessory.

For a split second, I wondered if I had left it here on one of my past visits. But no, I was sure I hadn’t.

I stood there for a moment, paralyzed. She didn’t seem to notice my stare, her attention fixed on something else. I wanted to speak, to ask her what the hell was going on, but my mouth went dry.

I turned again, this time walking out of the office and into the hall, my mind racing. The door clicked shut behind me, but the image of the ruby pendant stayed with me.

But what hit me harder than the necklace wasn’t the shock of seeing something that should’ve been mine. It was the quiet realization that none of this was real. I had made it all up. The missing things at home. The odd behavior. The unease I felt in my gut. The necklace… I had created the story to frame Grant.

In that moment, I knew I wasn’t the only one playing the long game. She had been in my house, playing her own.