The Threshold
“Doc…”
Voss didn’t answer.
He sat motionless in front of the terminal, his eyes fixed on the replay. The memory played through once, then again. His jaw tightened ever so slightly as he scrubbed backward and replayed the final moments a third time.
“Doc, what the hell just happened?” Wes swallowed hard. “You told me these were simulations of memories.” His voice caught in his throat. “What I just experienced... that didn’t happen.”
Voss leaned back in his chair and rubbed both hands over his face. He looked older somehow. Exhausted. For a long moment he said nothing at all before finally lifting his eyes to meet Wes’s.
“We’re done for today. Please return to your room. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
Wes stared at him in disbelief.
“Fuck that.”
He was on his feet before he realized he’d stood.
“Tell me what the fuck just happened!”
“I don’t know.”
The words hung in the room. For the first time since they’d met, Voss sounded uncertain.
“I need to review the session. I need to review your physiological data.” He took a slow breath, collecting himself. “I don’t have an explanation that I can defend with any certainty.”
“You don’t have an explanation?” Wes took a step toward him. “Then what the hell was all of that?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer landed harder the second time.
Voss stood, straightening his jacket almost absently.
“We’ll speak tomorrow.”
He turned toward the door.
“Voss.”
The doctor stopped but didn’t look back.
“Please return to your room.”
The door slid shut behind him. Silence settled over the simulation room. Wes remained standing, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The baby monitor. The doorway. The sounds Theresa never heard. And then... The look on her face. She hadn’t been looking at him. She’d been looking past him.
Slowly, he turned. The empty harness hung from the ceiling exactly where it always had, swaying almost imperceptibly in the stale air. Nothing else. Still... He couldn’t shake the feeling that, for one impossible moment, something had been standing there.
By the time Wes reached his room, the adrenaline had begun to fade, leaving behind an uneasy exhaustion. He sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. He had just relived the worst day of his life. Theresa still wouldn’t look at him. She still didn’t trust him.
And somehow...
He missed her even more than he had before entering the simulation. That surprised him. He had expected confronting the memory to lessen the ache. Instead, it deepened it. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Warm water ran over Wes’s hands as he rinsed the last dinner plate. Two familiar arms wrapped around his waist.
“This isn’t as easy as it used to be.”
He smiled before he even turned around. Theresa rested her chin against his shoulder, one hand supporting the weight of her pregnant belly.
“You’re getting in the way.”
“I know.”
“And you’re doing it on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
He pulled off the yellow rubber kitchen gloves he was wearing and turned to kiss her. She laughed.
“You are the only man I know who wears those things.”
“These hands are the money makers.” He held them up with mock seriousness. “I can’t have them soaking in soapy water, getting all soft and mushy.”
“Mmhmm...” She smiled. “Those hands are good for a lot of things.”
She held his gaze for another moment before her smile widened.
“I have an idea.”
He groaned dramatically.
“That sentence has never once ended with me relaxing.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Would you stop pretending you’re disappointed?”
“I’ve known you long enough to be appropriately concerned.”
She slipped her hand into his.
“Come with me.”
She led him through the hallway toward the garage.
“Open the trunk.”
Wes lifted the hatch.
Inside sat a wicker basket tied neatly with a burgundy ribbon. Nestled inside were half a dozen beautifully wrapped dark chocolate bars, each from a different artisan chocolatier.
He looked back at her.
“You drove all the way to Mariposa Chocolate Co.?”
“I might have.”
“For chocolate?”
“For the good chocolate.”
He laughed.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
“You’ve spent months getting this house ready. You’ve been building shelves, painting walls, putting together a nursery... You forgot that we’re allowed to enjoy it.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“So what’s the occasion?”
She smiled.
“No occasion.”
“Then why?”
“Because someday this little one is going to make evenings like this a lot harder to come by.”
She reached around him, lifted the basket from the trunk, then nodded toward the house.
“I rented a fondue set.”
“You rented... a fondue set?”
“For the chocolate.”
He laughed.
She smiled and disappeared back into the house. Then she stopped. She looked back over her shoulder.
“I’ll meet you upstairs.” She nodded toward the basket. “Bring the chocolate.”
Wes awoke to pale morning light spilling through the narrow window of his room at the treatment center. He stretched slowly, surprised by how rested he felt. For a moment he simply lay there, trying to hold onto the dream before it faded.
Theresa. Not the anger. Not the betrayal. Just Theresa. Laughing. Smiling. Looking at him the way she used to. He didn’t know if she would be waiting when this was over. She didn’t owe him that. But she deserved the best version of him. For the first time since arriving at the treatment center, he wanted to see it through.
Not because a judge had ordered him to. Because she was still worth fighting for. Whatever had happened inside that simulation... Whatever Theresa had seen... He wasn’t running from it.
Wes didn’t know where Voss’s office was. The simulation room was the only place he could think to start. As he rounded the corner, he noticed light spilling through the partially open door. He reached for the handle but stopped.
“…Yes, I understand what the protocol says.”
Voss. He was on the phone.
“No. I’m not abandoning it.”
A pause.
“I’m adapting it.”
Wes frowned. Adapting it? He thought this treatment had already been through years of testing.
“If I’m wrong, I’ll accept responsibility.”
Another silence.
“Because doing nothing is no longer an option.”
Continue Reading
If you were Wes, would you continue the treatment after what just happened?
I think a lot of us experience moments that seem small from the outside but quietly change the way we move through the world.
Where the Light Is is a story about memory, guilt, identity, and what happens when we confuse self-erasure for love.
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