“There’s nothing wrong with you,” my psychologist said, his tone calm and reassuring as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re just a deeply loving person.” The weight of his words hit me like a wave, soothing the doubts and self-criticism that had been gnawing at me for so long. For the first time, I felt validated, as if someone finally understood the part of me that I had always thought was broken.

But then, he caught me off guard. “You know,” he said after a pause, his voice gentle but direct, “that capacity for love doesn’t have to be confined or suppressed. Perhaps it’s something we could explore together.”

I blinked, unsure if I had heard him correctly. “Explore together?” I echoed, the words feeling strange as they left my mouth. He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Yes,” he said. “I think there’s a connection here worth pursuing.”

The idea left me both flattered and stunned. Here was someone who not only saw me but also wanted me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. My heart raced as I nodded, almost instinctively agreeing to something that felt so unexpected yet so validating.

What happened next was a blur. His words of affirmation melted into actions, and before I fully realized it, we had crossed a boundary I had always assumed would remain intact. The office—once a place of reflection and guidance—became the setting for something far more personal and intimate.

In the moment, it felt exhilarating, even liberating. But as I walked out of his office, the clarity of daylight brought a flood of questions. Was he truly helping me embrace who I was, as he claimed? Or had he used my vulnerability and trust to satisfy his own desires?

Now, I can’t escape the uncertainty. I want to believe in the sincerity of his words, but the lines between therapy and something far more complex have blurred beyond recognition. Am I really just a deeply loving person, as he said, or have I been manipulated under the guise of care?