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Holy shit.

I have a front-row seat to her therapy session. I take it back—this is better than prime-time television.

“Last time we spoke you had just started your first tattoo session for the scar cover-up. Have you had a chance to look at it yet?”

“Oh! Yeah, I have. So, remember how I told you about how I got kind of emotional during the appointment?”

“Uh-huh,” the therapist says.

“When I took the wrap off it, and was able to see it in the mirror, I probably stared at it for a good ten minutes without moving. It was so nice to see my back and for the first time notice a tattoo—a beautiful tattoo—before noticing the scars. It’s not fully covered up yet, it’s just the outline, but the first thing I noticed was the moth. It was really fucking cool.”

Her words are a punch in my chest. I knew it was a traumatic cover-up, but hearing her words—words she usually keeps to herself—makes me really fucking happy that she was able to experience a bit of peace for herself. Now I just have to find the person who did it, and a therapy session is likely to earn me some clues. One step closer. See? If I didn’t have this two-way mirror situation, I never would have learned this and it will likely bring me closer to finding whoever carved up her back.

My coworker Kelly would say this is the universe telling me that I’m on the right track. It’s a reward. Honestly, who’s going to argue with the universe? Not me.

“That’s excellent. What else is new?”

She inhales through her nose. “Rhys has been bugging me to go to his games more.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I want to, but I mean, it’s not like I have anyone to go with.”

“You can sit in the box with Micky, right?”

Anna nods. “Yeah, but there’s always a lot of drinking and stuff.”

“In the past you’ve done well; do you think it will be a trigger?”

“I mean . . . not really. It just feels weird. Whenever I watch him play, I’m proud of him. I see how hard he works with his sponsorships, making time for Kucera Housing, not to mention all the training and traveling . . . And all I can think is how difficult I made life for him. I was such a mess and I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Do you think you’re a burden?”

“Not anymore, but I was.”

“So what? Do you think he sees you as a burden?”

“No, and that’s almost worse. He’s never mad at me, just tells me he’s proud of me.”

The therapist pauses for a few seconds.

“Do you miss him?” the therapist asks.

“I miss our relationship from our childhood in Maine, before the drugs, before he was signed. Before he moved me to Minnesota so he could babysit me.”

“You’ve come a long way in the last few years. You need to know that.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Or are you just saying that?”

She sighs. “I do, I just feel like this fear of relapse is constantly hovering. On top of that, I’m just so fucking . . . bored.”

So I was right.

“Have you made any more efforts to go out or make friends?”

“Not really.”