Short Story Draft

"I lost my son years ago, being the man I was I knew it was my fault."
"..."
"How can I not feel guilty?  Is this just how I'm supposed to react to these kinds of situations?"
"..."
"WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER ME!?"
"Because they are not my questions to answer" I said.
"If they are not my therapist's questions, then whose are they?"
"They are yours, Henry, and I can not answer them for you."
"Why not?  Isn't that your job?" Henry questioned.
"No, my job is to help you answer your own questions."
"Well I'm not going to stand by and burn my money."
"Then get out.  I didn't ask you to sort my life out.  You came to me for help, not a free ride."
"I guess you're not what I'm looking for then."
Henry left the room slamming the door.  I'm is finally done with that idiot.  At last I can take my lunch break.  I looked at my clock.  Damn, an hour past lunchtime.  As I go to grab my lunch I looked at my desk.  My desk had my name, Lionel Prescott, carved into the wood.  Looked at the picture frame on my desk, ah, Anna, how I miss you. It's only been 4 years since you were killed...
I have to hurry and finish my lunch, my next patient will be in within the hour.  At least I get a lunch break today, its been weeks since I've had the privilege of an hour to myself.
"Mr. Prescott?"
It was my assistant Cathy, she's calling to tell me the worst news, my next patient was here.
"Yes, Cathy?"
"Are you okay?  Henry stormed out quite angrily."
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"So when should I set up his next appointment?"
"Funny."
"Well at least he's not your problem anymore."
At least...