Aiko sat in the small café booth, fingers wrapped around a steaming latte, watching foam swirl like her thoughts. It was a quiet Tuesday morning, Ichigo at preschool, Haru at work. She'd texted Chris—yeah, Chris—asking to meet. No drama, just coffee. He was part of Ichigo's life now, and she wanted to understand the guy who'd cracked Haru's walls.
Chris arrived right on time, light brown hair tousled from the wind, hazel eyes curious but warm. He slid into the booth opposite her, ordering black coffee. "Hey, Aiko. Thanks for the invite."
She smiled small, nerves fluttering. "Thanks for coming. Wanted to chat... about therapy stuff. Haru mentioned you're starting sessions?"
Chris nodded, blush faint. "Yep. First few weeks. Heavy, but good."
Aiko stirred her latte. "Same here. Been at it years now. Thought I'd share—maybe help, or just... connect."
Chris leaned forward, open posture. "I'm all ears."
Aiko exhaled, diving in. "Post-divorce, I crashed hard. Moved cities thinking distance fixed everything. Wrong. Guilt over the affair, leaving Ichigo—ate me alive. Panic attacks in meetings, crying in cars. Hit rock bottom: couldn't function. Friend pushed therapy—saved me."
Chris's eyes softened. "Sounds brutal."
"Yeah. First therapist was meh—too clinical. Switched to Dr. Kim, woman my age, specialized in relationships. She made me face why I cheated: feeling invisible with Haru, bottling resentment instead of talking. Avoidant attachment—parents were 'achieve or no love.' Learned to suppress needs till explosion."
She sipped, voice steady. "Early sessions: anger work—punching pillows, screaming in car. Then grief—for marriage lost, time missed with Ichigo. Journaled letters to past self: 'You were hurting, but choices hurt others.' Forgave slowly."
Chris nodded. "Haru mentioned group therapy."
Aiko smiled faint. "Game-changer. Divorced moms circle—heard stories like mine, worse. Felt less monster. Learned 'I feel' statements, boundaries. Meds for anxiety short-term, then mindfulness. Apps, yoga, breathing 4-7-8 for attacks."
"Biggest parallel?" she continued. "Owning abandonment impact on Ichigo. Therapy made me see patterns repeating—flaking visits early. Worked consistency: calendar alerts, prep activities. Now show up prepared, no excuses."
Chris's blush deepened. "Ichigo lights up with you now."
Aiko's eyes misted. "Means everything. Therapy's ongoing—weekly still, for maintenance. Parallel to Haru's guarded stuff, my avoidance. We clashed bad. Co-parenting sessions help rewrite."
Chris shared bits—his abandonment from Dad, debt guilt. Aiko listened, no judgment. "Healing's messy, but worth it. You're doing great with Haru, Ichigo."
Coffee ended warm—hug awkward but genuine. "Thanks for sharing," Chris said.
"Anytime. We're family weird way."
Home later, Chris told Haru over dinner prep. Ichigo chattered about preschool, oblivious.
Haru listened, veggies chopping paused. "Proud you met her. Sounds healing."
Chris bumped hips playful. "Yeah. Parallels hit—her avoidance, my over-giving. Therapy twins."
Evening routine: park, bath, stories. Ichigo out, apartment hushed.
Haru pulled Chris to bedroom. "You okay after today?"
Chris nodded, vulnerability soft. "Better. Talking parallels... frees something."
Kiss started tender—gratitude deep. Turned heated quick. Chris pushed Haru to bed, straddling, lips hungry. Tongues brushed urgent, breaths ragged.
Shirts shed—Chris's lifted slow, Haru's yanked. Skin met hot, slim pressing medium. Haru's hands roamed back, gripping waist. Chris ground down, friction sparking sweet.
Mouths wandered: Haru neck kisses, nipping gentle. Chris arched, gasp breathy, fingers tangling hair. Pants undone impatient, pushed away.
Bare, sweat-slick. Bodies aligned—Haru's hand wrapping firm, stroking rhythm rolls. Chris bucked, moans soft, legs tighter. Haru's free hand traced thigh, deepening.
Pleasure coiled intense—eyes locked, hazel open raw, brown full love. Whispers: "Healing with you," Chris panted; "Forever," Haru husky.
Climax shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release muffled cry. Haru followed, shuddering deep.
Tangled after, breaths evening. Chris smiled lazy. "Best parallel."
Haru chuckled, kissing forehead. "Agreed."
Showered gentle—kisses water, hands soft. Bed cozy, talks flowed—Aiko's journey mirroring theirs.
Morning: pancakes, giggles, drop-offs. Therapy parallels wove family tighter—healing shared path.