“Yes. Now I know this is a sensitive topic, but I wanted to make you aware that I am informed about the generalities of your situation. So, when your son mentioned that he’s been having persistent nightmares which are affecting his sleep, I wanted to touch base with you on some ideas I had to help.
“I know he’ll likely outgrow them as he continues to process the huge changes in his life recently, but it takes a village, right? I am here to support you any way I can, and I think a great way to do that is this program I’ve looked into.”
Wait.
Junior was having nightmares?
He’d had them right after I’d come home from…dealingwith the perpetrators, but outside of the occasional incident, I thought he was done with those.
Had he been hiding it from me?
If he had, why? Did he not trust me? Was I not making a safe enough environment for him? Did he think I wouldn’t care, or listen to him?
Although Miss Fischbacher was still smiling at me with that pixie-enchanted grin and speaking softly, I couldn’t hear her over the maelstrom of static that had begun to play in my head.
I was failing my son. I wasn’t enough. I could never be enough. Everything I touched was poisoned. It should have been me, not her. Not my beloved. If I had been home and she had been on the trip, the world would be a better place.
It should have been me.
It should have been me!
Itshouldhavebeenmeitshouldhavebeenmeitshouldhavebeenmeitshouldhavebeenmeitsh—
“Ben, would you take a breath with me?”
Miss Fischbacher’s voice was still kind, but it was firmer now. The change was enough to yank me out of the cacophony between my ears, and I locked eyes with her.
I hadn’t noticed how hazel they were. Deep, chocolate brown at the center, honeyed in the middle, and rimmed with green. Almost like a fairy circle. They captivated me, and I did as she asked, drawing in a long, slow breath.
“Thank you, Ben. Now, let’s breathe out, shall we?”
I didn’t answer, but I followed her lead and exhaled slowly.
“Perfect. How about a couple more times?”
Once. Twice. Thrice. I followed her inhales and exhales like gospel, and it wasn’t until the fourth time that I fully realized what was going on.
Oh.
Panic attack. How fucking embarrassing.
Guilt and shame clambered up my throat, and my face flushed. God, I was a wreck. It was like all my fears of the past year were coming true in real time.
“Ben, if you’d like to discuss this at a different time?—”
“No,no,” I said firmly. I may have been a failure of an alpha, but Iwasgoing to get through a parent-teacher conference. It was the least I could do for my son. “You mentioned a program?”
She smiled so sweetly at me, I got why Benny only ever had positive things to say about school. I’d heard horror stories about teachers making students miserable, but it was clear that Miss Fischbacher was not a part of that issue. “Yes, I did. It’s an after-school program that several kids from all over the district attend once a week.”
“What do they do there?”
“Well, it’s an arts-based therapy program with several registered therapists. The students take buses in from their respective schools and participate in various creative activities from painting, to sewing, to improv. I actually have one of their pamphlets.”
She pulled open a desk drawer and handed me a shiny leaflet. I was so used to things being digital, that it made me appreciate having something tangible in my hands. Was it weird to miss the days of pen and paper? Because I did.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice sounding like gravel. “I’ll look it over.”
“If you have any questions, you have my number, and I’ll text you my email.”
