Cameron shifted on the couch, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "There's not much to say. It was...normal."
"Normal?" Dr. Roberts echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's a broad word."
Cameron exhaled sharply through her nose. "I mean, I had both parents. A house. A dog. Nothing crazy happened."
Dr. Roberts nodded. "Alright. Let's start small—what were you like as a kid?"
That question sat strangely in Cameron's chest. What had she been like? The answer wasn't hard to find, but saying it out loud felt foreign. "I was...good. Quiet, I guess. I didn't get into trouble, got good grades. I was the kid adults liked."
"The responsible one?"
Cameron scoffed. "Something like that."
Dr. Roberts tapped her pen against her notebook. "And how did that responsibility feel?"
Cameron hesitated. "I don't know. I didn't think about it. It was just how things were."
"Because that's what was expected of you?"
A beat of silence. Then, a slow nod. "Yeah. I guess so."
Dr. Roberts leaned forward slightly. "Tell me—when you were sad, who comforted you?"
The question made something twist deep inside her, an immediate discomfort crawling up her spine. "I didn't really...need comforting," Cameron said, forcing a shrug. "I mean, there wasn't anything to be sad about."
"No scraped knees? No bad days? No fights with friends?"
Cameron swallowed. There had been, of course. But she could still hear her mother's voice, crisp and dismissive: You're fine. Don't be so sensitive. It's not a big deal.
She cleared her throat. "I don't know. I guess I just handled things on my own."
"Because you had to?"
Cameron didn't answer right away. She thought about all the times she had swallowed her feelings, the way she had learned to smile even when her chest felt hollow. How she had made herself useful, helpful, never a burden. She had been good—because good meant loved.
"Maybe," she finally admitted.
Dr. Roberts nodded, scribbling something down. "And did you ever feel like that wasn't enough?"
Cameron frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Like no matter how responsible or well-behaved you were, it didn't really get you the love or attention you wanted?"
Cameron exhaled sharply, her fingers clenching against her thighs. "I mean...my parents loved me. They still do. It's not like I was neglected."
"Neglect isn't just physical, Cameron." Dr. Roberts set down her pen. "It sounds like you were a very self-sufficient child. But being self-sufficient isn't the same as being happy."
Cameron stared at the space between them. She thought of birthday parties where she played the polite host rather than the celebrated child. The way she had cleaned up her own messes, both literal and emotional, before anyone could notice them. The way she had excelled at school, at everything, hoping it would spark something deeper than surface-level praise.
She thought of how it never had.
She bit the inside of her cheek. "I didn't want to be a problem."
"Did someone tell you that you were a problem?"
"No, but—" Cameron hesitated. "I don't know. I just knew that as long as I was good, as long as I didn't need too much, everything was fine."
Dr. Roberts studied her for a moment before nodding. "And what about friendships? Who was your closest friend growing up?"
Cameron let out a slow breath, sifting through memories she had long since buried. One surfaced immediately—a girl with wild hair and a laugh that had once felt like home.
"Lena," she said. "We were inseparable for years. She was the first person I ever really...let in."
"What happened?"
Cameron felt the answer like a weight in her chest. "She just...left. She got new friends, stopped answering my texts. One day we were best friends, and the next, I was just someone she used to know."
"Did you ever ask her why?"
Cameron shook her head. "What was the point? She made her choice."
Dr. Roberts studied her carefully. "So, you never got closure. You just accepted it and moved on."
Cameron exhaled sharply. "What else was I supposed to do? Beg her to stay?"
"Did you want to?"
Cameron's jaw tightened. "It wouldn't have changed anything."
"Maybe not. But it might have helped you understand why it hurt so much."
Cameron shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest. She wanted to argue, to deflect, but the truth was already settling like a stone in her stomach. She had buried that pain, convinced herself it didn't matter, that she hadn't needed Lena anyway.
But it had mattered. Because after that, she had never let anyone that close again.
Until Jasmine.
Dr. Roberts gave her a moment before speaking again. "You've spent your whole life making sure you weren't a burden. You taught yourself that love had to be earned, that if you were perfect enough, maybe someone would stay."
Cameron's throat tightened. She stared down at her lap, her hands curling into fists.
Dr. Roberts' voice softened. "Jasmine wasn't the first person you lost, was she?"
The words hit like a gut punch. No. She wasn't.
Lena had left her. And Cameron had convinced herself it was her fault, that she wasn't interesting enough, fun enough, enough enough to keep.
So when Jasmine came along, when Jasmine chose her, Cameron had latched on like a drowning thing, desperate to keep from sinking again.
Dr. Roberts leaned forward slightly, her expression gentle but unyielding. "I think it's time we talk about that. About where this really started."
Cameron swallowed hard, her pulse drumming in her ears. For years, she had traced her pain back to Jasmine, to the toxic push-and-pull of their love, but now...
Now she wasn't so sure.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before nodding. "Okay."
And for the first time in her life, she was ready to look back.