The therapist had done her job! Dr. Schussler had separated the patient from her father—returned her to the mystery of her origins and the mysterious creation of herself! I nearly cried. I did not think Dr. Schussler had it in her, indeed that any therapist could be effective in this manner, and I instantly regretted that I had quit all those analysts, doctors, counselors, social workers—perhaps too soon? The therapeutic discussion continued until the completion of the hour, but, with the climax of the session behind them, patient and doctor were languorous, like lovers after sex. Yet I grew increasingly uneasy. I kept hearing her mother’s denial of Rosensaft’s paternity, a denial that seemed ever more absurd as I replayed the scene in my mind. Why had her mother dismissed it so very adamantly, so oddly (come to think of it)? Perhaps Michal did indeed believe that Rosensaft was the father, and she did not want the patient to seek him out—wanted to keep Rosensaft out of the patient’s life and her own.
