Everything was data.
Alex’s hand found mine under the table—squeezed once.
I squeezed back, grateful.
The candle was lit again when I arrived Wednesday morning—I was beginning to appreciate why Alex hated the smell of artificial vanilla. Same consultation room, same chairs, same view throughthe window, same uncomfortable feeling deep inside me.
Elena was already there, notepad ready.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked as I sat down.
“Tired. Didn’t sleep great.”
“Nightmares?”
“No. Just… thinking.”
“About?”
I gestured vaguely at the room, at her, at everything we’d been doing. “All of this. What you’re seeing. What it means.”
“What do you think it means?”
Classic therapist move—turning my question back on me. I almost smiled. “That I’m more of a mess than I thought I was.”
“Or that you’re doing harder work than you’ve allowed yourself to do before,” she settled back in her chair. “Today I want to talk about identity. Specifically, who you are now.”
My jaw tightened automatically.
“You’ve spent the last eight months defining yourself by what you’ve lost,” Elena continued. “Your clearance to fly. Your active-duty status. Your physical capabilities before the accident. But that’s not an identity, Finn. That’s a list of absences.”
“It’s what matters.”
“Is it?” She cocked her head, then leaned forward slightly. “Who are you without the flight suit?”
The question sat between us.
“I don’t know anymore,” I shrugged finally.
I stared out the window. Maggie was trotting past with a stick in her mouth, probably looking for someone to throw it. Simple. Uncomplicated.
“That’s honest,” Elena said finally. “But I want to try something different. Instead of focusing on what you’ve lost, tell me what you still have. What hasn’t changed despite everything.”
“My limitations haven’t changed.” The words tasted bitteron my tongue. “Still can’t fly. Still dealing with migraines and tremors and a brain that misfires when I’m stressed.”
“Those are your challenges, not your identity.” Her voice stayed level. “What capabilities do you still have?”
I balled my hands into fists. “I don’t—”
“Yesterday you diagnosed and repaired a hydraulic problem. Taught me the process while you did it. Your father trusted your judgment without question. That’s not nothing, Finn.”
“It’s an ATV, not a Super Hornet.” I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.
“The principles are the same, and you know it. It’s proof your knowledge is intact. Your problem-solving ability. You think systematically without even noticing. That doesn’t disappear because you’re not in a cockpit.” Elena tilted her head slightly. “What else?”
I swallowed, licking my lips. “I still know how to fly. Still understand aircraft systems, flight theory, navigation.”
“What else?”
