“Thank you.”
“And if it helps,” she added, “keep recording what you hear and see when you’re unsure. Real voices reply. Hallucinations don’t.”
I nodded again. “I will.”
“You can schedule our next session this week. My calendar’s open.” She tilted her head. “Is there anything else before I go?”
“No. And if you’re wondering, I’m not going to hurt myself or anyone else.”
“I wasn’t,” she said, her eyes bright with something more than kindness. “But it’s still good to hear. Because you’re precious, Emily. You deserve to be loved, and to love.”
“Thank you.”
Then she was gone.
I placed the MacBook on the side table. Sunlight was still spilling through the windows. My gaze drifted to the phone.
Everything felt a little better. The session with Anna had helped, even if I still hated that I was now officially on antipsychotics. But if that’s what it took to make the hallucinations stop...because that’s what this was. Right?
My eyes stayed locked on the phone. My thoughts were circling.
Maybe I should go back down there and record the exact area where I’d seen the woman. Just in case. To be 100 percent sure that I was having psychotic episodes. I mean, I was 99 percent sure that was what it was.
But that 1 percent.
I hadn’t used my phone last time. I’d been too stunned. Next time, I’d be smarter. More prepared.
A low thrum crept into the room. The heavy sound of a helicopter cut through the quiet.
Daniel.
I stood up from the bed, straightened my spine, and planted my feet firmly on the floor. I’d tell him everything myself. Eye to eye. With dignity. And the promise that I was doing the work in therapy again.
Head held high, I walked into the kitchen. The aroma of pasta hit me right away. Rich tomato sauce and fresh basil filled the air.
Tara and Hudson sat stiffly at the table, sipping coffee like it was a funeral. They exchanged a glance, then smiled softly.
“Are you hungry?” Tara asked quickly. “Remember, I made homemade tortellini.”
I wasn’t hungry at all, but she’d tried so hard.
“Yes. We could all have dinner together,” I said. “Daniel must be starving.”
The helicopter grew louder. Closer.
Crossing the room, I unlatched Mochi’s crate. His feathers were puffed up, and he cocked his head with a low chirp. I wascalm enough now to handle him. Birds were sensitive—too much stress, and he’d stay up all night, anxious.
I pet his feathers gently and kissed the top of his head. He closed his eyes, pressing into my fingers, soaking in the affection.
“I’ll put Mochi in his large cage in the library,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Daniel about today first. I want him to hear it from me.”
“Of course,” Hudson said.
“I’ll play with Mochi for a bit and then set the table,” Tara added.
I glanced at both of them. The worry was obvious in their faces, which meant only one thing: they cared. Even if the whole day had been a damn disaster. Embarrassing. Awful. They cared.
Strangely enough, I kind of felt calm. Anna’s words still clung to me. I was a normal human being who’d been through hell. My reactions weren’t wrong. I was a normal human being. Not feeling pain would be the crazy thing.
