Chapter 1
587words
The ink wasn't even dry on my divorce papers, and already I felt like I was drowning.
I stared at the framed photo on my desk—Nathan and me in Santorini, his arm around my waist, both of us laughing as the Mediterranean wind tousled our hair. Seven years ago. A lifetime ago.
"Dr. Carter?" My assistant's voice through the intercom pulled me from my thoughts. "Your patient is here. Lily Sullivan."
I quickly wiped away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "Send her in, please."
The door opened, and seven-year-old Lily entered, clutching her stuffed rabbit like a lifeline. Her dark eyes, too old for her young face, assessed me carefully.
"Hello, Lily," I said, gesturing to the chair across from me. "How are you feeling today?"
She sat down, arranging her rabbit on her lap. "Mr. Hoppy is angry today."
I nodded, recognizing the therapeutic projection. "Is he? What's making Mr. Hoppy angry?"
"He misses his mom and dad," she whispered. "And he's mad they left him."
The words hit too close to home. Wasn't I asking myself the same question these past eight months? Why did Nathan leave when I needed him most?
"It's okay to feel angry when people leave us," I said gently. "Even when they don't want to."
Lily looked up sharply. "My parents didn't want to leave. The bad man made them."
I leaned forward, choosing my words carefully. "That's right, Lily. And your feelings about that are all valid—the sadness, the anger, all of it."
"What about you?" she asked with that unnerving directness children sometimes have. "You look sad too."
I hesitated, caught off guard. "I... yes, I suppose I am a bit sad today."
"Did someone leave you too?"
My throat tightened. Out of the mouths of babes. "Yes," I admitted softly. "My husband and I... we're not going to be together anymore."
"Did a bad man make him leave?"
The question hung in the air, unexpectedly complex. Had something—or someone—driven Nathan away? Or had we simply fallen apart under the weight of our grief?
"No," I finally said. "Sometimes adults just can't make things work, even when they care about each other."
Lily's brow furrowed. "That's stupid."
Despite everything, I laughed—a genuine laugh that felt foreign to my throat. "Yes, sometimes it is."
For the next twenty minutes, we talked about her feelings, her memories of her parents. As she described a trip to the beach, her face animated for the first time in our sessions, I made notes about her progress. The resilience of children never ceased to amaze me.
When our time was up, I walked her back to the pediatric ward, where her foster mother waited with thinly veiled impatience.
"Any progress, Dr. Carter?" she asked, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Significant progress," I replied, resting my hand briefly on Lily's shoulder. "Lily is incredibly resilient."
The woman nodded distractedly, already checking her phone. I suppressed a sigh. Lily deserved better than this temporary placement, but finding permanent homes for traumatized children was never easy.
"See you Thursday, Lily," I said, crouching to her level. "Maybe Mr. Hoppy would like to draw some pictures of that beach next time?"
She nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing her face. "He'd like that."
As they walked away, Nurse Chen approached with a sympathetic smile. "Tough case?"
"They all are," I admitted. "But Lily's special."
"Oh, before I forget—your lawyer called the nurses' station. Said she's been trying to reach you all morning."
