His brow lifted.
I exhaled. “Struggling,” I corrected.
“You know, you’re allowed to be a normal human being too,” he said. “You’re allowed to struggle. To cry. To stay awake at night and spiral. And to come in here, talk it through, workthrough it with me. There’s no shame in needing help. And there are medications too.”
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. First one all week. “That’s very kind. But I can’t afford to be a normal human being right now.”
He tilted his head. “What else would you be?”
I reached over and gave Lacey’s hand a soft squeeze.
“A mother.”
That got me a nod. And a smile. He removed the headphones from Lacey’s ears and placed them back on the desk. Then he scribbled something onto a pad.
“This is a psychological referral for the kids,” he said, handing me the paper. “They should have someone to talk to. Learn how to cope. It’ll help them, especially in the long term.”
I took it. “Yes. Good idea. Thank you.”
“I’m also calling in a scrip for an antidepressant and something for sleep. For Lacey. She needs to rest. I want to see her at least once a week. And if she starts talking again, call me immediately.”
“I will. Thank you.”
We both stood. Lacey didn’t. I gave her a gentle pull. Like guiding a sleepwalker. Reminding her it was time to move. She stood slowly. Moved stiffly, arm hooked into mine.
I led her toward the door. “And if you ever need to talk”—Dr. Sanchez’s voice was low again, steady, as he looked me in the eyes—“you can call me.”
I gave him a tired smile. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Sanchez.”
“Oh—and one more thing.”
I paused in the doorway.
“The police are asking for your signature regarding our sessions. So they can get copies. And they’re requesting accessto all therapy notes moving forward. We call it a HIPAA release form.”
“I can sign it for you now if you want.”
He shook his head. “Let’s wait. The police’s interests aren’t always the same as the patient’s best interests.”
My forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“My notes can easily be misread. So let’s hold off. We can talk about it more next week.”
I stared at him, not sure I fully understood. But then I nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”
Chapter 9
Nicole
I was driving in silence with Lacey. I wasn’t silent on purpose. I was just so exhausted. But then I remembered what Dr. Sanchez said at the beginning of the session: try to talk to her as much as possible.
We turned onto Route 1 toward Peabody, and the colorful signs of shops zipped by.
“Oh, look, there’s Dairy Queen,” I said. “I think the kids deserve a treat, no?”
I smiled and glanced at Lacey, but she just stared out the window.
We hit the drive-through, and I ordered like a madwoman. Milkshakes, sundaes, fries. Chocolate. Vanilla. Whatever I saw on the menu.
