“No, nothing,” I whispered. “Just waking up back at the cabin.”
“Okay,” she said, forcing a smile and nodding. “Thank you, Anna. I know that isn’t easy. Are you still taking the test for your GED soon?”
“I took it,” I said. “Passed.”
“That’s great,” she said, smiling. Her expression became more serious. “Anna, are you happy with your life?”
I stared at her, my lips drawing inward. What kind of question was that?
“My life is what it is,” I said. “I’ve accepted that.”
“You’ve mentioned that sometimes it’s hard to engage with your friends.”
I glanced out of the window. The view of the forests around the city, nestled peacefully in the mountains, used to be comforting. But that peace was a lie. There was an evil hiding within their beauty that I’d never unsee.
“Anna?”
Rain started beading down the window.
“You also said you felt guilty. Do you still feel that guilt you spoke of?” she asked
That night crawled from the shadows. A cold from deep within rose through my core to strangle me. A scream sounded in the recesses of my mind, distant but piercing.
“Anna?”
That was it—this was my atonement for what happened.
Ignoring Michelle’s concerned look, I stood up. “You’re out of questions.”
Michelle’s expression collapsed into disdain, but she nodded anyway.
I headed for the door and gripped the doorknob in my hand, but suddenly, I stilled.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t walk out of here without acknowledging the truth—a truth I was terrified to say out loud. Terrified that I’d never atone for what happened.
Finally, the words escaped me like whispers from a grave.
“Of course, I still feel it. I killed my mom.”
Chapter 2
Happiness Isn’t for Everyone
ANNA
Freedom.
I hit the gas. With the window down, my hair blew in the summer breeze. I grinned as I remembered when Katie first got her license. She used to drive Eiryn and me everywhere with the music blaring, sweating to death with the windows down because the A/C didn’t work. I missed those days.
The relief was cathartic—I was done with therapy. It had become an extension of the hours I used to sit through police interviews.
My eyes tightened at the memories, and I shoved them back down deep.
No. More.
I never had to sit there in that therapist’s desolate office and count the stains on the carpet again. Never had to answer someone’s questions if I didn’t want to.
