That caught me off guard. “You know Dr. Bridge?” I asked, my voice rising a little.
“We cross paths from time to time. This field is smaller than it seems.”
Does she knows Dr. Bridge? That’s… unexpected. He never mentioned knowing anyone at Lakeview. But then again, why
would he? It’s not like we were friends. He was my boss, and I was just an intern. Still, it’s nice to know he said good things
about me.
The tight feeling in my chest eased a bit. If Dr. Bridge had put in a good word for me, maybe this wasn’t such a long shot after
all.
“So,” Director Alice said, pulling out a pen, “tell me about your approach to cognitive–behavioral therapy.”
I took a deep breath and answered her question, then the next, and the next. Most were things I had prepared for–how I handled difficult patients, what I thought about burnout, my experiences with people from different backgrounds. With each
answer, I felt more confident. My voice grew stronger, my back straighter.
Director Alice’s face gave nothing away as she took notes. She didn’t smile, but she nodded now and then, which I took as a /good sign.
After about forty minutes, she set down her pen and closed her notebook.
“One final question, Miss Janet.”
“Yes?” I smiled politely, my hands resting on my own notebook in my lap.
“Are you married?”
The question hit me like cold water. I blinked, trying to keep my face neutral.
“I’m sorry–is this also part of the interview?” I asked, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be. I never discussed my marriage with anyone. It was private, painful, and none of anyone’s business.
“Are you currently married? Or in a long–term relationship?” she repeated, her voice calm, like she was asking about the
weather.
I searched her face for any hint of judgment or mockery, but found none. Just professional curiosity. Still, it felt wrong.
“I wasn’t aware that was relevant to the position,” I said carefully, measuring each word.
Director Alice closed my file, folding her hands neatly on top of it. “It’s a standard question we ask of all applicants. Some of our clients prefer to work with counselors who share certain life experiences. Marriage, motherhood, family life–these often shape a therapist’s worldview.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. My chest tightened again, but this time with anger, not nerves.
“With all due respect,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady, “I believe professional competency should matter more
than marital status.”
“It does,” Alice said smoothly, not missing a beat. “But our clients pay premium fees. They expect to choose whom they work with. We accommodate that where we can.”
I couldn’t help it–I laughed, short and sharp, no humor in it at all. “So if I were married with two children, I’d be more appealing?”
Alice didn’t answer directly. Her face remained professional, blank. “Some clients find that relatable.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. I could feel my face flushing, and my hands started to shake again, but for a different reason now.
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Chapter 0017
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“I appreciate the transparency,” I said, standing up and gathering my things, “but I think that will be all.”
Director Alice raised an eyebrow but didn’t move from her seat. “Is there a problem, Miss Janet?”
“I came here to be evaluated on my ability to help people,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Not in my personal life. I
don’t think this is the right environment for me.”
Alice nodded once, her face still calm. “I understand. But we take our clients‘ expectations into consideration when choosing
a counselor for them.”
I held my folder tight against my chest, gave a small bow of my head because I couldn’t quite shake the politeness my mother
had drilled into me, and walked out of the office.
My steps were fast as I walked down the hallway, but I made sure not to run. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing
me upset. The receptionist looked up in surprise when I passed through the lobby, but I didn’t stop to explain.
Outside, the air felt good on my hot face. I marched straight to the car park where Tracy waited. I yanked open the passenger
door and dropped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.
Tracy turned to me, her eyes wide with concern. “Is everything alright?”
“Just drive,” I said through clenched teeth. “I need to get the hell out of here.”
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