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Prologue
Her
The doorto my office sways open, the gentle chime of the bell I installed to it signaling the arrival of my five o’clock.The room seems to take a breath, the quiet anticipation hanging in the air as Lucy Morgan stands hesitantly at the threshold.
Over the course of the last five months, she has entrusted me with her journey.Our joint efforts have yielded significant strides toward her personal healing.However, it’s not been enough.There’s much more work we need to do while she confronts the remnants of her past.I’m committed to helping her reclaim whatheforcibly took from her, but I know it could take years.
Her presence infuses the room with an indescribable energy.Her trepidation, like a rough sigh, seeps into every quiet corner, echoing like whimpers from a wounded animal.
Today doesn’t seem to be one of her best days.The weight of her memories weighs heavily on her, making it even harder to exorcise the demons within.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what happened, but my routine remains the same.My familiar movements soothe in their predictability, the hiss of the electric kettle a soft whisper in the quiet room.I pour boiling water into a delicate porcelain cup and grab sachets of her favorite peach and chamomile, artfully arranging everything upon the coffee table.
I light a lavender and sage candle.The calming scent dances around us.Every element I’ve added in this place is lovingly curated, exuding an aura of serenity and compassion, designed to protect my cherished patients in a haven of comfort and solace.
This space isn’t just an office but a healing place.
Once I’m ready, I sit back in my chair and greet her.“Good evening, Lucy.”My voice is feather-soft, aiming to offer the soothing comfort of a friend.Her gaze flickers to meet mine, a haunted echo of a smile fleeting across her features.I see it in her inwardly drawn shoulders, the quiet release of a breath I didn’t realize she was holding.My presence, my acknowledgment, it seems, is her permission to simply breathe.
Her story unfolds through her body language—the slight slump of her shoulders, the restless tapping of her fingers, the fleeting gaze that never stays fixed for too long.I interpret it, immersing myself in the unspoken tale, my heart resonating with a melody of empathy for her.
“Did you have a good night’s sleep?”I ask, trying to figure out what’s underneath the stress.I can’t recall the last time she was this tense.
Something unexpected must have happened to put her in this strange mood.I know the signs so well.In her silence, I feel a twinge of sorrow, knowing that she balances precariously on a tightrope of hope and torment, a delicate waltz etched into her existence by the scars her stepfather imprinted in her soul.
Lucy shakes her head.Her fingers trace the mug in front of her: An absentminded movement of anticipation and apprehension.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I offer gently, hoping she’ll open up to me, almost praying that this won’t be one of those old sessions where she retreated into her shell and remained silent.
“The police ...”She presses her lips together, and her nostrils flare.
The shift catches me off guard.She’s hurting, yes, but there’s a lot of anger within her.A prickling question rises within me—what changed?
Her gaze skitters around the room, finally finding refuge in the tranquil landscape painting adorning the wall—something I created during my own journey.
“The police ...”she repeats with a raspy whisper.
The words dangle unfinished, her lips pressing together into a thin line of resolve.Her nostrils flare, her eyes flashing with an unexpected surge of anger.
As I feel my insides coiling tighter, a wave of apprehension settles in the pit of my gut.Lucy’s emotional response triggers a flood of memories, each one more haunting than the last.My mind races, conjuring up worst-case scenarios that only intensify my anxiety.What if he managed to escape from prison?Could they have released him earlier due to a lack of evidence, a loophole that sets him free?
No, that’s impossible.Lucy is our star witness, and she’s ready to speak.
The trial isn’t until next month, and I’m working hard to convince the authorities to push for a virtual testimony.She doesn’t need to confront him again—to look into the eyes of the monster who robbed her of her innocence and dignity for years.
It’s time for her healing to take center stage.
“He ...”Her voice trails off, the sentence barely started, but I know in my bones what she’s about to say.He’s free, and the dreadful question that lingers: Will her mother, blinded by twisted love, welcome him back with open arms?
A bitter taste of resentment crawls up my throat at the thought of her mother.Instead of supporting her daughter, she’s defending her husband—the man who abused and tormented her child for years.I can’t stand women who put their desires before their children’s safety.Selfish women who don’t understand they’re supposed to protect and love the kids they brought into this world.
This time, I’m the one who counts until my own breathing is back to normal.
“It’s alright, Lucy.Take your time,” I assure her with a soothing voice.
“Someone ...”She exhales loudly.“Someone killed him last night.”
What?The world grinds to a halt around me.This revelation is not what I had anticipated.And yet, I grasp the magnitude of the news.His death won’t bring her the peace she deserves.As a victim, she wants him to pay for every crime he committed.
