“Calm down, Doc,” I laughed lightly. “I did my research. I stopped as soon as I found out, which was fairly early in the process.”
He sighed a breath of relief. “Okay. Good.”
But then his expression turned serious once more, and I could tell he wasn’t finished yet.
“Haelyn…” He folded his hands in a careful gesture, signaling the gravity of what he was about to say. “I truly am happy for you. But are yousurea baby is what you need right now? You’ve only just regained your independence. You’re adjusting to life outside the institution, working to stabilize your existence, all while beingoffyour medication. That’s… a lot, emotionally.”
I sighed internally.
Here we go.
Every fiber of my being wanted to unleash my frustration and tell him exactly how I felt.
“Dr. Loomis,” I spoke softly but firmly, maintaining the facade of calm. “for ten years, I lived in a place where people forgot I existed. I had no family visits, no real friendships, and the chains of confinement wrapped around me tighter every day. I watched women lose themselves entirely. Some stopped talking… some even stopped caring whether they lived or died. There were nights I genuinely thought I’d die in that place.”
My eyes fell to the floor, acknowledging the weight of those memories.
None of what I’d said at that moment was even exaggerated.
Dr. Loomis stayed silent.
“And now that I finally have another chance at life, I’m determined to do everything right… even if it looks messy to other people. I really have changed. I’m not that vengeful, unstable girl who first walked into your office all those years ago.”
Dr. Loomis looked at me with a mixture of concern and professional detachment.
“Well,” he began, his voice steady but sympathetic, “given that you’re off your medication and considering the added stress from the pregnancy hormones, I’d feel more comfortable seeingyoutwicea week instead of just once. It’s a precautionary measure."
Immediately I wanted to protest.
Twice a week?
Jesus Christ.
That felt overwhelming, like life had just looked me dead in the eye and said, “Actually, let’s make things worse.” But the thought of going back to Willowgate indefinitely? Absolutely not. That place felt like emotional solitary confinement. I couldn’t do it again. I’d fake my own death first.
“Okay,” I managed, surrendering to the reality of the situation.
Dr. Loomis adjusted his glasses before flipping open the thin manila folder sitting beside him.
“Now, before your surprise announcement completely derailed today’s session,” he continued, his gaze fixed on the notes inside, “I want to discuss some updated observations from Ms. Celeste Baptiste.”
Celeste.
She was the state-appointed reintegration counselor assigned to monitor every facet of my life post-release. In other words, she was the woman tasked with interrogating me about whether I was “emotionally regulating appropriately” every five damn minutes during our sessions.
Despite her role, she came off as a female version of Dr. Loomis. They basically asked me the exact same questions under two different job titles. It honestly felt like the court wanted extra caution after releasing me, so they split the responsibility between psychiatric supervision and behavioral reintegration just to make sure I didn’t spiral without somebody noticing. Where Dr. Loomis exuded clinical sternness, Celeste attempted to wrap her inquiries in warmth, though I often sensed the performativity in her efforts.
As I watched Dr. Loomis skim over the notes, I couldn’t help but wonder how much had been shared between the two of them regarding my life.
“She had very positive things to report about you this week. You’ve been punctual for your appointments, cooperative in our sessions, maintaining proper hygiene and appearance, and showing markedly improved communication skills. Furthermore, it appears you’re more socially engaged now… less withdrawn than before.”
Inside my mind, a voice scoffed, dismissing the praise.
That’s because we finally have a purpose now.
I pushed the thought aside, focusing on Dr. Loomis as he continued to read.
He cleared his throat slightly, then quoted from Celeste’s notes, “‘Patient appears optimistic about rebuilding her life and demonstrates increased confidence in her ability to function independently outside institutional care.’”
