CHAPTER 17: THE WOUNDS
After my mother's second arrest, I took a leave of absence from work.
I couldn't focus. I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Her hands around my throat.
Nora encouraged me to see a therapist. I resisted at first. I didn't need help. I was strong. I had survived.
But I was wrong.
The therapist, Dr. Miller, was patient. She didn't push. She listened.
And slowly, I started to open up.
I talked about my childhood. The constant criticism. The favoritism toward Grant. The way my mother had always made me feel like I was never good enough.
I talked about the trust. The betrayal. The trial.
I talked about the night my mother attacked me.
"Evelyn," Dr. Miller said, "you've been through a lot. You've survived things that would break most people."
"I don't feel like I've survived. I feel like I'm barely holding on."
"That's normal. Healing is not linear. It's a process."
"How long does it take?"
"Everyone is different. But the important thing is that you're trying."
I left her office that day feeling lighter. I wasn't healed. I wasn't whole.
May you like
But I was on the right path.
And that was enough.
