Lila’s eyes widened. “You did what?”
“I talked to a detective. He’s investigating.”
“Nora...” Lila leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You could get in serious trouble for filing a false report.”
“It’s not false!”
Several people at nearby tables turned to look. Nora felt her face flush hotter. She never raised her voice. Never made scenes. Never drew attention.
“I’m sorry,” Lila said, gentler now. “I just worry about you. I don’t want to see you go down this rabbit hole again.”
Again.As if Nora’s valid concerns were just another episode of instability. Another manifestation of her broken childhood.
She picked up her sandwich, no longer hungry but needing something to do with her hands. “The detective believes me.”
“What detective?”
“Carson Black. He worked with my dad.”
Lila’s expression shifted, concern mixing with something else. Calculation. “Carson Black. The one whose sister disappeared?”
“I...yes, I think so.”
“Nora.” Lila reached across the table, gripping Nora’s hand. “He’s known for being...intense. For going after cases other cops would let go. I’ve heard stories—he bends rules, pushes too hard. Are you sure he’s the right person to trust with this?”
Doubt wormed its way into Nora’s chest. What if Lila was right? What if Detective Black was seeing connections that weren’t there, feeding into her paranoia instead of helping?
But then she remembered the way he’d looked at her in the coffee shop. Not with pity or skepticism. With belief.
“He’s helping me,” Nora said firmly. “That’s all that matters.”
Lila squeezed her hand once more, then let go. “Okay. I just want you to be careful. Promise me you’ll keep seeing Dr. Kim? That you’ll at least consider that this might be anxiety?”
“I promise.”
It was easier to lie.
***
Dr. Kim’s office was designed to be soothing—soft lighting, comfortable chairs, a small fountain burbling in the corner. Nora had been coming here for three years, working through the trauma of losing her parents, the instability of foster care, the persistent anxiety that made normal life feel like walking through a minefield.
Usually, this space felt safe.
Today, it felt like another place where she wouldn’t be believed.
“You seem tense,” Dr. Kim observed, her pen poised over her notepad. She was in her forties, Korean-American, always professionally dressed. Always carefully neutral.
Nora shifted in her chair. “I’ve been having some...issues.”
She explained it all again. The parking garage, the files, the things moved in her apartment. With each word, she watched Dr. Kim’s expression, trying to read whether the therapist believed her.
Dr. Kim’s face remained neutral. Professional. Concerned.
“Have you been taking your medication regularly?” Dr. Kim asked when Nora finished.
The question felt like a slap. “Yes. Every day. This isn’t a panic disorder episode.”
“I’m not suggesting it is. But anxiety can manifest in many ways. Hypervigilance, a sense of being watched, difficulty trusting your own perceptions...”
