Liam thinks over it for a minute before he nods, understanding.
"I didn't mean—" Liam starts, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to disrespect you, Mama."
"I know, baby."
"I'm sorry for cursing at you."
I press a kiss to his head and smile.
"I know, baby. I'm washing your mouth out with soap next time, though," I joke, and he huffs a laugh, reminding him of a certain movie we watch over and over again on Christmas.
"I wanted to ask if you would be open to talking to someone," I ask Liam, keeping my voice soft and gentle. This has been something I’ve been thinking about over the last month, inspired by Atlas. It’s something Imani gently suggested on our last phone call—family therapy for the boys.
“All of us could go.”
"Talk to someone?"
"Yeah, like a therapist," I tell him, and his eyes light up a bit.
"Oh," he says, ears going a little red. "...Birdie has a therapist."
"Yeah?" I ask with a smile.
"She says it helps. So..." Liam shrugs. "Yeah."
"Thank you," I whisper, squeezing him in a hug. He only groans and protests a little bit, making me laugh before I walk to the door. "Lights out at 9."
"Mama?" he calls, catching my attention at the door. "Can I... I think I might want to read it, but... later."
"Whenever you want, baby," I smile.
Later in bed, when I reach out to Atlas' side, I press the letter to my nose, trying to catch any of that familiar scent. I don't know if my mind is playing tricks on me, but I think I smell him and it... makes me feel safe.
I clutch the letter to my chest, I think of Atlas, and I breathe.
Hurt and hope, blooming in my chest.
The hurt stays still, but the hope seems to be spreading.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Atlas
It's Christmas Eve tomorrow.
I came home from Story Grove yesterday. My parents were waiting for me by the front doors, speaking with Dr. Mason.
I packed up my things and said goodbye to the nurses who’d cared for me all month, the moment feeling bittersweet—more sweet than not. I was ready to leave, even if change always comes with a small ache.
But the bitterness vanished the second I saw my parents, waiting with teary smiles and open arms.
And I collapsed into them like a child, allowing some of my own tears to fall. Such a difference from when they dropped me off. I had felt as though I was in a daze, shaky, scared, panicked, and broken.
I'm not cured. Dr. Mason says I'm never going to be cured of this. But I will be stronger, and I will manage my panic and my PTSD. I will love my family more than I fear losing them.
I can't go back to the way things were and redo my mistakes, but I can carve a better path forward.
I can earn my children's trust back.
