Over the next few sessions, Dr. Gadot led Nia through a journey—down memory lane, into the attic of her mind where the skeletons of past lovers lurked.
She started with her first major heartbreak—Jordan Taylor—the poet-turned-banker who swept her off her feet during her senior year of college. He was tall, baby-faced, devastatingly handsome, and had a way with words that made her feel like the only woman in the room.
They met at a poetry slam in the basement of the campus café. She had gone just for fun, expecting nothing more than an open mic night and some free coffee. But then Jordan stepped up to the mic, and everything changed.
He didn't just recite poetry—he performed it. Every word dripped with emotion, every line wrapped around the audience like silk. And when he looked at her while reading a poem about love and loss, something inside her shifted.
Afterward, he approached her. Smiling. Confident. Charismatic.
"You looked like you understood me," he said.
"I think I did."
And so began their whirlwind romance.
He wrote love poems dedicated to her. Sang jazz standards under her dorm window. Took her on spontaneous road trips and whispered sweet nothings into her ear until sunrise.
Nia had never felt so seen.
So adored.
So alive.
They dated all through senior year, and for a moment, Nia thought she'd found *the one*.
Until graduation.
Once the real world hit, Jordan became distant. Interviews, rejections, pressure—it all weighed on him. Nia tried to support him, but he pushed her away. One day, he packed his things and moved to Chicago without telling her.
No goodbye. No explanation.
Just gone.
When Nia finally reached out weeks later, he responded with a simple message:
"I needed space. I'm sorry."
That was it.
No apology. No closure. Just a cold, clinical response from a man who once spoke to her like she was the center of his universe.
She told this story to Dr. Gadot now, her voice cracking slightly.
"He broke my heart," she admitted. "But worse—he made me doubt whether I was lovable."
Dr. Gadot nodded thoughtfully. "Did he explain why he left?"
"No. He just… disappeared. Like it meant nothing."
"And how did that shape your view of love?"
Nia exhaled slowly. "It taught me that people leave. That even when you give everything, they can still walk away. That love doesn't protect you from pain."
Dr. Gadot leaned forward. "And so, you learned to expect abandonment."
"Yes," Nia whispered. "Even if I didn't realize it at the time."
---
**The Older Man**
Then came Darius, her first serious boyfriend post-graduation.
He was older, polished, financially secure. He took her to Paris for her 30th birthday and proposed a future together. Only to reveal months later that he was already married—with two children.
"I met him at a networking event," Nia recalled. "He was charming, successful, and very smooth. He knew exactly what to say to make a woman feel special."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"At first, I didn't believe it when I found out he was married. I thought it was a rumor. A lie someone spread because they were jealous of us. But then I saw photos. Texts. Emails."
Dr. Gadot remained silent, allowing Nia to speak freely.
"When I confronted him, he didn't even apologize. He just said, 'I didn't plan for it to go this far.' As if I were some side project he got too invested in."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"That was the first time I realized that charisma could be dangerous. That charm could mask deception. That a man could look like everything you wanted—and still be hiding a life you never knew existed."
Dr. Gadot asked gently, "How did that affect your trust in men?"
"It shattered it," Nia said honestly. "I started questioning everything. Was I not enough? Did I miss the signs? Was I naïve to believe in him?"
"You weren't naïve," Dr. Gadot reassured. "You were hopeful. You wanted to believe in love, in connection, in someone showing up for you."
Nia nodded. "Yes. And maybe that's part of the problem. I've always been a believer. I want to see the good in people—even when they don't deserve it."
"And that's beautiful," Dr. Gadot said. "But it also makes you vulnerable to those who take advantage of that belief."
Nia sighed. "I know. I just… I hate feeling jaded."
"You're not jaded," Dr. Gadot corrected. "You're learning. Healing takes time. Trust rebuilds slowly. And that's okay."
---
**The Fiancé Who Walked Away**
And perhaps the most painful of all—Elijah.
Elijah was Nia's fiancé.
Yes, she'd once been engaged—back in her thirties. She'd loved him deeply. Thought he was the one. They planned a wedding, bought a house together. But Elijah struggled with intimacy—emotional intimacy, that is. Sexually, they were fine. But emotionally? He kept her at arm's length.
After four years, she called it off.
"He broke my heart," she confessed during one session. "But worse—he made me doubt whether I was lovable."
Dr. Gadot held her gaze. "Was he afraid of intimacy?"
Nia nodded. "Afraid or incapable. Either way, it hurt the same."
"These experiences taught you that love is conditional. That connection comes with strings and disappearances."
"They taught me that men leave. That whatever I give, they'll eventually take."
"But you're still giving," Dr. Gadot noted.
"Because I still hope."
"That's human. But hoping without boundaries leads to heartbreak."
Nia swallowed hard. "I know."
She looked down at her hands. "I used to think that if I gave enough, loved enough, supported enough—that I could earn the kind of love I deserved."
"And did that work?"
Nia shook her head. "Never."
Dr. Gadot leaned forward. "That's because love shouldn't have to be earned. It should be mutual. Reciprocal. Equal."
"I understand that now," Nia said quietly. "But understanding doesn't erase the pain."
"No," Dr. Gadot agreed. "But it does help you heal."
---
**Patterns in the Mirror**
As the session continued, Nia began to recognize the patterns in her relationships.
Each man had been different—Jordan, the poetic dreamer; Darius, the sophisticated player; Elijah, the emotionally guarded soul.
But they all shared one thing in common.
They didn't show up consistently.
They offered excitement, but not stability.
Passion, but not presence.
And yet, she kept falling for them.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"What do you notice?" Dr. Gadot asked gently.
Nia stared at the floor for a long moment before answering.
"I notice that I keep choosing men who reflect my childhood wounds. My father left. These men left. Or ghosted. Or lied. Or withdrew. They all reinforced the idea that I'm not worthy of consistent love."
Dr. Gadot nodded. "Exactly. Your brain has been conditioned to expect abandonment. So when a new man enters your life, especially one who mirrors the traits of the ones before him, your body gets a rush of dopamine—the pleasure chemical. You chase that high, even though it rarely ends well."
Nia blinked. "That's exactly what happens."
Dr. Gadot smiled. "It's not weakness. It's survival. Your brain is wired to seek pleasure and avoid pain. When you receive attention from a man like Marcus, it feels validating. But when he disappears, it reinforces the belief that you were never truly worthy of consistent love."
Nia looked down at her lap. "So I'm basically addicted to rejection?"
"In a way. Not rejection itself, but the thrill of being desired by someone who might take it away. It's a dangerous cocktail—excitement, uncertainty, and intermittent validation. It keeps you hooked."
Nia exhaled deeply. "I never thought of it like that."
"That's why we're here. To rewire the wiring."
---
**Rewriting the Script**
After a long pause, Dr. Gadot spoke again. "You've spent your life looking for love in places where it wasn't available. And every time, it reinforced the idea that you aren't enough. But I want you to consider something different."
Nia met her gaze. "Okay."
"What if the problem isn't you? What if the problem is the men you've chosen?"
Nia blinked. "That's… not a perspective I've considered."
Dr. Gadot smiled. "Most women don't. We internalize rejection. We assume it means something's wrong with us. But what if it's just that you've been drawn to emotionally immature men? Men who are afraid of intimacy? Men who thrive on keeping women guessing?"
Nia let that sink in.
"You're not flawed, Nia. You're human. And humans crave connection. But you've been taught to seek it in unhealthy ways."
Nia nodded slowly. "I want to change that."
"You can. But it starts with awareness. With honesty. With learning to love yourself first."
---
**A New Kind of Love Story**
As Nia left the session, she felt something stir inside her—a quiet confidence, a sense of clarity.
She didn't need to chase love anymore.
She needed to cultivate it within herself.
And when the right person came along?
She'd be ready.
Not desperate.
Not searching.
Just open.
And whole.
---
**Back to Lola**
Later that evening, Nia met Lola again—this time at her apartment, where they sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by wine glasses, cheese boards, and the soft glow of candles.
"So," Lola said, swirling her glass. "How'd therapy go?"
Nia smiled. "Different this time."
"How so?"
"I actually talked about *me*. About my past. About why I keep falling for unavailable men."
Lola raised an eyebrow. "And what did you learn?"
Nia took a sip of wine. "That I've been chasing men who remind me of my father. That I equate excitement with love. That I've spent my whole life trying to prove I'm worthy of someone's affection."
Lola leaned back. "Damn, girl. That's deep."
Nia laughed. "Yeah. It was heavy. But necessary."
Lola studied her. "Are you going back?"
"Of course. I have more to unpack."
"Good. Because you deserve to break this cycle."
Nia nodded. "I know. And I will."
Lola reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're stronger than you think, Nia. And I'm proud of you."
Nia smiled. "Thanks, girl."
Now, more than ever, she believed it.
---
**A Message That Changed Everything**
The next morning, Nia woke up early, the sun spilling through the blinds in golden streaks. She stretched, sipped water, and did her usual morning routine—journaling, meditation, and a quick yoga flow.
Then, she picked up her phone and checked her messages.
There was one waiting from Andre.
"Hey Nia. Hope you're having a good morning. Would you like to grab brunch this weekend?"
She smiled.
This was different.
No games.
No disappearing acts.
No late-night texts followed by days of silence.
Just a simple, straightforward question.
And for once, she didn't hesitate.
She typed back:
"I'd love that. How about Saturday at 11?"
She hit send.
And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't chasing.
She was choosing.
And that, she realized, was the beginning of something new.