Watching his face turn from anger to despair wasn't the reward I sought, but it was what I had reaped. He had started with "liar", and then, after some time, he acknowledged that he could not know for sure it wasn't true.
The kettle clicked, it had boiled. The ebbing away of the bubbling background rumble now fading, leaving only the still clean quiet white of the walls and his downcast eyes. It's times like this that I look again at my office, open eyed, note the fact I've not watered the plants for a while. Waiting for the first move, I sit back.
The creak of my chair raises his eyes, "but?" he pleads.
Sometimes my job feels like the most important one in the world, sometimes I feel like a murderer. Recovery can cause as much loss as it can gain.