I don't react. It's not a surprise, so I let the statement exist. Then I ask, "And you?"
Her mouth opens, then closes. She looks away toward the window, out at the city. She clears her throat. "I don't know. I'm torn. I see my daughter sleeping again. Eating. Laughing." Her voice breaks, and she looks back at me. "And then I hear the wordsself-harmcome out of her mouth, and I feel like I'm failing her."
"You're not," I say gently.
"You don't get to reassure me," she snarls.
"That's fair. But I get to be honest. You didn't cause this. And neither did I."
She shortly laughs. "That's convenient."
"Truth often is."
Skylar stands abruptly, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. She picks up her purse, then hesitates, turning back to me.
Her voice tightens. "If she gets worse...if she hurts herself?—"
"I won't disappear, hide, or deflect responsibility. And I will do everything in my power to keep her alive and safe at all times," I vow.
Her eyes search mine again, desperate for certainty, before asking, "And if we demand you step away?"
My stomach knots. "I can't."
She looks at the ceiling, taking shaky breaths. "You're playing with fire, Dr. Mercer. My husband isn't happy."
"But your daughter is," I blurt out.
She closes her eyes and grips the back of her chair.
"I don't want to be enemies. For all of our sakes, but especially Blue's," I add.
Skylar swallows hard and meets my gaze. "I can't promise you anything. Not acceptance, or silence, or any sort of cooperation."
"I'm not asking for promises. I'm asking for time and more conversations between the four of us, so Blue's included, and we can all put her needs first."
She considers that. Then, unexpectedly, she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. "If she texts you, and she's not okay, you tell me. Immediately."
I blink. "You want to be included."
"I want to know what's going on with my daughter. Even if I hate what I'm hearing."
"I can do that, but only with Blue's consent," I offer.
Her jaw tightens again, but she nods. "Then get her to consent. Show me you really do want what's best for her." She moves toward the door, then stops with her hand on the handle.
"What else do you want to say?" I ask.
She spins. "You love her?"
"Yes."
"Truly love her?"
"Yes."
"And you believe that makes this right?"
"I believe it makes this worth handling carefully," I answer.
