Page 25
Dr. Nudo stands beside the door, waiting with a patient smile.
The session is over.
Finally.
Reluctantly, I turn away from the window, still wondering whether the lonely boy has found what he was looking for.
Dr. Nudo holds the door open, and I follow her into the hallway.
Mom and Dad are already waiting.
Dad notices me first. He gives me a little wink before turning back to Mom with the warm smile he always wears when he looks at her.
Then they follow Dr. Nudo a few steps away, where she attempts—and fails—to lower her voice.
Adults are surprisingly bad at whispering.
I roll my eyes and lean against the hideous pink wall, covered in framed flamingos.
While they discuss me as though I’m not standing three feet away, I inspect my outfit.
I’m wearing a white pantsuit from Mom’s latest children’s collection, a matching winter coat, white gloves, sparkly shoes, and a white mini purse.
White makes perfect sense to me.
It always has.
Mom, meanwhile, wears a soft pink jumpsuit tucked into tall winter boots. She looks like she belongs inside an expensive cloud made of cotton candy.
Dad wears dark jeans, black loafers, and a simple black T-shirt beneath his charcoal coat. The tattoos climbing his neck disappear beneath the fabric.
They look nothing alike, yet somehow, they fit together perfectly.
“Artemis doesn’t respond the way other children do,” Dr. Nudo says quietly. “Not even the way her brother, Roman, did. She isn’t aggressive, but there appears to be a lack of emotional expression. We may be looking at mild psychopathic traits—”
“Psychopathic traits?” Mom whispers.
Dad’s voice cuts through the hallway like ice.
“Artemis is not a fucking psychopath.”
His blue eyes immediately find mine, checking whether I’ve heard.
I’ve heard every word.
I begin turning one of my silver rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I stop.
No.
That doesn’t feel right.
