Later, after July left soup on the counter and disappeared into her room with the quiet understanding that I needed solitude, I sat on the kitchen floor beside the table, my back against the cabinet, notebook resting loosely in my lap.
And without invitation, my thoughts drifted to Bram. The strange big man in the forest, all warmth and motion and unguarded enthusiasm, who had spoken too much and who didn't care I didn't say a word as though silence was simply another way of being. I doubted I would see him again. People like that passed through places; they didn't stay. Still, the memory of him lingered in me like clean air.
*******
My next session with Dr. Leland arrived sooner than I expected.
"You seem different today," she said gently.
I typed.
I rescued an owl.
Her smile widened, soft and knowing. "That sounds like you."
I typed again.
His name is Ash.
She nodded thoughtfully. "Naming is attachment," she said. "And attachment requires courage."
My throat tightened. After a deliberate pause, she spoke again. "April, I think you need to speak to Ellis."
The air in my chest constricted instantly.
I don't think I can talk to him.
"I'm not asking you to try to speak," she replied calmly, her voice steady, almost a tether in the chaos of my thoughts. "I'm asking you to confront him," she continued, leaning forward slightly, eyes patient but insistent. "In a way that feels possible. A letter. An email. Something written. Something that allows you to reclaim your narrative."
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain. My chest tightened.Why now?
"Because your nervous system is finding strength," she said, her tone both gentle and firm. "You said your name. You returned to work. You protected something vulnerable and kept it alive. Avoidance once kept you safe. Now it's keeping you small."
She paused, letting the words settle before continuing. "It's not about forcing him to feel guilt or pain. It's about giving your story back to yourself. When someone violates your trust, when someone reduces you in front of others, the world can feel likeit's written their version of you and that version isn't yours. Telling your truth is the first act of reclaiming it. It's a way of saying: this is what happened. This is how it made me feel. This is my experience. Not yours, not theirs, mine."
Her eyes softened, but her conviction didn't waver. "You have carried that moment inside you, April. Every heartbeat, every breath has remembered it. Naming it, sending it into words, is how you stop letting it have power over you. It matters because what they did changed you, but that change does not have to define the rest of your story. You have to give yourself permission to place the pieces back where they belong, even if only one sentence at a time."
I swallowed.
What if he doesn't respond?
"Then you will still have spoken," she said softly. "And that matters."
What if he does?
She didn't rush the answer.
"Then we handle that together," she said.
That night, Ash slept deeply beneath the low light, his breathing steady, his small body finally relaxed. July had gone to bed. The house was quiet. The only sound was the hum of electricity and my own measured breathing.
I started writing.
Chapter 9: Confession & Confrontation
Subject:My Truth
Ellis,
