Chapter 3 — Sophie’s First Session

Third Person

Evelyn sat across from Sophie, her posture relaxed, but her eyes keen with focus. The faint trickle of the indoor fountain and the soft scent of lavender filled the room, soothing the lingering tension. Sophie sat curled up in the large armchair, her small fingers gripping the cushion's edges as if anchoring herself. Between them, a small table held an untouched glass of water, placed deliberately for Sophie to focus on if needed.

Behind her daughter, Gabriel stood like a statue, arms crossed, casting a shadow over the scene. His tailored suit and rigid posture felt out of place in the sunlit, peaceful room. The warmth of the space was swallowed by his presence—he loomed like a warden more than a worried father. Evelyn’s jaw tightened momentarily, sensing the weight of his expectations pressing in on her, on Sophie, on the room itself. She took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay centered.

“So, Sophie,” Evelyn began softly, her voice inviting but not intrusive, “I brought something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, leather-bound sketchbook. It was simple, its blank pages waiting to be filled. She placed it gently on the table between them, her movements slow, deliberate.

Sophie’s eyes flicked toward the sketchbook, but then darted back to her father, searching his face for approval, for some sign of what she should do. Gabriel remained silent, his face unreadable, though Evelyn noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. She could feel his frustration simmering beneath the surface, his need to fix the situation, to control the outcome. Evelyn pushed aside a flicker of doubt. What if she couldn’t reach Sophie? What if her methods didn’t work this time? But she refocused on the girl, determined.

“Sophie,” Evelyn continued, keeping her tone light, “sometimes it’s easier to show how we’re feeling with pictures instead of words. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Sophie’s fingers loosened ever so slightly from the cushions. Evelyn caught the small shift, resisting the urge to glance at Gabriel. This moment was about Sophie. Gabriel’s presence, however, hovered like a dark cloud.

After a long pause, Sophie hesitantly reached out and pulled the sketchbook into her lap. She flipped it open, her fingers trailing over the blank pages, but she didn’t reach for the colored pencils Evelyn had placed beside it.

Gabriel cleared his throat, a noise too loud for the quiet space. Evelyn noticed the subtle stiffening in Sophie’s posture—the way her small frame seemed to shrink, her shoulders curling inward. It was a painful echo of her own childhood, of feeling small, unseen, and dismissed. A memory flashed, unbidden—her father’s back turned, walking away, leaving her standing in the doorway. Her fingers tightened slightly on the arm of her chair, the faint ticking of her pocket watch grounding her back in the present.

“You don’t have to draw anything right away,” Evelyn said softly, her voice calm, soothing. “We can just sit here for a while. This is your space, Sophie. You can do whatever feels right.”

Gabriel shifted again, and this time Evelyn couldn’t help but glance at him. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. The tension was palpable, and Evelyn gave him a subtle shake of her head. He needed to let go, just for now.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Gabriel said abruptly, his voice quiet but sharp. “She used to love to draw. Now she barely touches anything. I don’t see how sitting in silence helps.”

Evelyn turned to Gabriel, keeping her tone firm but soft. “Therapy isn’t about forcing her to talk. It’s about creating a space where she feels safe enough to express herself in any way she chooses, whether that’s through words, drawings, or even silence.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened further. “I don’t have time for pointless exercises.”

Sophie curled deeper into the chair, and Evelyn felt her heart ache for the girl. She controlled her rising frustration. This wasn’t the time to confront Gabriel’s impatience, not in front of Sophie. But he needed to understand.

“Silence can be powerful,” Evelyn said, her voice low, steady. “It gives us time to think, to feel. Sometimes, words and pictures come later, when we’re ready.”

Sophie’s fingers traced the edges of the pages, her small hand lingering over the colored pencils, still hesitant. Evelyn could see her curiosity building but held back, not wanting to push too soon. Gabriel, however, remained tense, his arms still crossed, his gaze hard. But beneath all that, Evelyn saw it—the fear. He wasn’t just frustrated. He was terrified of losing her.

“I used to love drawing when I was your age, Sophie,” Evelyn said gently, her tone softening. “I would sit by my window for hours, sketching everything I saw—trees, birds, the neighbors’ houses. It helped me understand my feelings when I didn’t have the words.”

Sophie’s grip on the sketchbook loosened further. She glanced at the colored pencils again, her eyes flicking back to Evelyn, then to Gabriel, as if seeking permission. Gabriel remained silent, but his gaze had softened slightly. There it was—his control cracking, the vulnerability hiding underneath.

“When you’re ready,” Evelyn said softly, standing slowly, “the sketchbook is yours. You can draw anything you want, and if you decide you’d like to share it with me, I’d love to see it. But it’s just for you.”

Sophie didn’t respond, but her fingers tightened around the sketchbook, this time with a sense of ownership. Evelyn considered that a small victory.

“I think we’ll end the session here today,” Evelyn said, turning to Gabriel. “Sophie needs time. We can’t rush this.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed deeper, but he nodded curtly. The dissatisfaction was clear in his posture, but he said nothing as Sophie stood, still clutching the sketchbook tightly to her chest. As they exited the room, Gabriel lingered, his eyes narrowing on Evelyn.

“This—” he began, his voice barely controlled, “—this isn’t what I expected.”

Evelyn met his gaze steadily. “Therapy isn’t about quick fixes, Mr. Lawson. It’s about trust. Sophie needs to know she’s in control of her own feelings. Not you. Not me. Just her.”

For a moment, Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “She’s my daughter. I know what’s best for her.”

“And yet you brought her to me,” Evelyn replied, her voice unwavering. “Because you know something’s not right. Let me do my job.”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed, a brief flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe even fear—but it was gone just as quickly. He turned sharply on his heel, leaving Evelyn standing at the doorway of her own clinic, tension still lingering in the air.

Evelyn exhaled slowly, her heartbeat steadying. She had known from the moment she walked into the mansion that this was going to be a challenge. Gabriel was a man who thrived on control, and Sophie was caught in the crossfire of his overprotectiveness. But Evelyn had also seen the cracks in his armor—the fear, the desperation he tried so hard to hide.

Sophie’s reluctance to speak, her hesitance with the sketchbook, all of it was a reflection of the walls she’d built around herself. Walls that mirrored the same ones Evelyn had built as a child. And just like her, Sophie was waiting—waiting for someone to prove that it was safe to let those walls down.

Evelyn returned to the office, her gaze lingering on the chair where Sophie had sat, clutching her sketchbook like a lifeline. It was a small step, but sometimes, small steps were the most important ones.

And Evelyn was determined to take Sophie on that journey, no matter how long it took.