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"And now I'm adrift," she whispered.

She’d driven past it a hundred times. Once, she’d even gone inside. That was three months ago, for the intake. She’d sat in the crisp, navy-blue waiting area, signed a tablet, and felt a flicker of hope. Then she’d canceled the next five appointments. thriveworks counseling & psychiatry woodstock

For the first time in six months, Nora cried. Not the polite, single-tear kind of cry, but the ugly, heaving, can’t-breathe kind. Dr. Ramesh didn't hand her a tissue immediately. He let her have the moment. "And now I'm adrift," she whispered

Driving home, the rain had softened to a drizzle. She didn't turn on the radio. She thought about leaves. She thought about her father's hands—calloused from working on his old truck. And for the first time, the grief didn't feel like drowning. That was three months ago, for the intake