It made me feel like I was living that saying, two steps forward, three steps back. My progress with my therapy was slow but steady. My progress with Mason was confusing and pretty much nonexistent, because it wasn't really progress if the person couldn't even look you in the eye, and his heart was practically laying on his shoes it was so heavy.
I wanted to ask him what happened, but I had a feeling - a really, sinking feeling - that his answer would make me feel worse and make him feel guilty. So I settled on stewing in self pity that night. I wanted him to want to explain things if he was having a problem with us, but I assumed it had something to do with Isabella…my mom…and the look she gave him.
In fact, I would have bet on it.