Chapter One
Melissa
December 2, 2024, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
“You must understand, Mr. Franks, that while your daughter wasn’t sexually abused, she was emotionally and mentally neglected. For a child as young as Danika is, that is life-altering. Instead of being loved and cared for by loving parents, who should have shown her affection, happiness, boundaries, and tools she mentally needed to help her grow, she received nothing, hindering her mental growth. While children Danika’s age are generally talking, secure in playing by themselves and with others, have the basic knowledge of right and wrong, know that Mom and Dad are safe and strangers are bad, your daughter knows none of that. She missed all of her benchmark milestones. To make matters worse, from what you’ve told me, Danika received nothing but basic functional care and food. Tell me, Mr. Franks, how did Danika react when she was rescued?”
Mr. Franks held his partner’s hand as he answered, “We got to her at the same time. She was in the arms of one of the men who rescued her. She clung to him. She was shaking, but she was allowing him to hold her. Dante got to hold her first. She went right to him.”
Sighing, I leaned back in my chair. “My guess is, the man who rescued her was the first person who ever held her, and she was unsure how to act or respond. Who does she gravitate to the most?”
“Me,” Mr. Franks admitted as he held Danika in his arms. She hadn’t moved from his lap since they’d been here. “She’s always by my side or in my arms. She allows Dante to hold her, but I have to be in the room.”
“That’s because you are the alpha in the relationship. She’s corelated that as long as you are around, she is safe. It’s called attachment theory. A typical childhood attachment is an emotional bond between mother and child, or in some cases fathers, which starts at birth and impacts the child’s behavior from cradle to grave.”
“Like when a newborn is born?” Mr. Sharp added, sitting up. “I think I read about this in one of the books I bought. You’re talking about when a baby is born and doctors place the baby on the mother’s chest, skin to skin.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “The mom cradles her baby lovingly, giving the baby the first stimulation of safety and security. Danika never received that. She never felt safe and tends to be distant. Her guard is up all the time, which is preventing her from accepting the love and support she needs to thrive. Right now, she knows that Mr. Franks will protect her.”
“I’m her security blanket?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what you are, Mr. Franks, and until Danika realizes that she is safe with your partner as well, she will continue to cling to you. Danika needs to know that no matter what, both of you will be there for her.”
“How do we do that if she only wants Danny?” Mr. Sharp asked.
“By doing what you are doing now. Availability is a big component for a child like Danika. She needs to know that no matter what, the both of you will be there. Also, routine is big in attachment therapy. A constant, familiar schedule or routine will give Danika the comfort and security she needs.”
“What about the other stuff like school and shit?” Mr. Franks asked.
I smiled. “Right now, Danika is nowhere near ready for all the other stuff. For all intents and purposes, she is a newborn. You two are starting from scratch with her. Your priority must be making Danika feel safe. She needs to accept and rely on the fact that neither one of you is going anywhere. What do you do for a living, Mr. Franks?”
“I’m a security consultant. I own my own company in a way.”
“How often do you travel for work?”
“Only when I need to. Generally, I can do what I need to do from home.”
Nodding, I made a few notes in my book. “That’s good. And what about you, Mr. Sharp?”
“I too own my own tech company, but I work out of the house.”
“And neither of you are from this area, correct?”
“No,” Mr. Sharp answered quickly. “We live in New York City, but we will do anything for Danika. That’s why we are here seeing you. When we started looking for the best child therapist, your name was highly recommended.”
“I’m good, but not the best. That would be Dr. Gideon Scott, who happens to live in New York City.”
“He was unavailable,” Mr. Franks stated flatly.
Mr. Sharp quickly added, “Dr. Jefferson, we will do anything for our little girl. If that means moving to Oklahoma City, so she gets the services she needs, then we will do it.”
Closing my book, I stated, “I would like to see Danika every day. The faster we get her on a set schedule, the easier it will be for her to adjust. Right now, she needs to be your primary concern. Nothing else. I know that’s going to be hard, considering both of you run your own companies, but I can’t stress this enough. Danika’s mental well-being is fragile. She knows nothing of limits or boundaries. Right now, predictability will make the world less scary for her.”
“We understand. Anything she needs,” Mr. Sharp assured.
Leaving the office, I watched as they walked down the hall. I was good at my job. I had been helping children overcome trauma for more than a few years now. But Danika was a case unlike any I’d had before.
I considered reaching out to Dr. Scott in New York, but there was something about the way Mr. Franks responded when I suggested him that had me second-guessing that option.
I had met Dr. Scott once. He gave a lecture in New York when I was in college. It was the first time I had flown in an airplane, and I was terrified. But I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to hear the man speak. The man was brilliant when it came to the mind of an abused child and what they needed to heal. After attending that lecture, I devoured everything I could that had been written and published by him. I owed my career to that man.
But I owed my patients more. Unless I got into an area that I could not handle, I would abide by Mr. Franks’ and Mr. Sharp’s wishes.
Picking up my recorder, I made some notes to be transcribed later this evening at home. Mr. Franks had stressed that none of Danika’s records could be accessed by anyone other than me. Going so far as to say that if I could not accommodate that request, they would seek out someone else.
If they weren’t willing to seek out Dr. Scott, then I was their best option. I only barely had my doctorate in psychology, and there were others who had been doing this longer than me. Some of them, decades longer. But I had a special insight that allowed me to help children through their trauma. One that I suspected might be similar to Dr. Scott’s.
“It would need to be made clear to Mr. Franks and Mr. Sharp both that child therapy is not just for the child. They both appear guarded in their responses. They need to trust in the process and in my confidentiality. They both need to take an active role in Danika’s therapy. Including therapy for themselves. Mr. Sharp especially. The circumstances of Danika’s birth, abduction, and his lack of knowledge of her existence require forgiveness on his part. He needs to forgive himself. Despite rescuing her the moment he learned of her birth and what she had been through, I could see that he blames himself for circumstances that were far beyond his control.”
Setting my recorder on my desk, I turned and looked out my window. I tried not to think about my childhood.
It wasn’t healthy to dwell on things in the past that couldn’t be changed. You learned from your experiences, good and bad. They molded each and every one of us into the person we were today. My childhood was the reason I chose a degree in child psychology.
I felt a special connection to Danika. Neglect, abandonment, abuse. I had experienced it all, except the abduction. Though there were times I prayed someone would take me away.
Then one day, my older brother did. He joined a motorcycle club when he was twenty-one. Until then, he stayed at home to protect me. He dropped out of high school when he was sixteen. Working odd jobs during the day while I was in school, so I never had to be home alone; ensuring I had enough food to eat and clothes to wear.
When he joined the club, he moved out and took me with him. My parents barely noticed. They didn’t put up much of a fuss when he forced them to sign the papers transferring guardianship to him.
He saved me that day.
He never knew how much.
When I was seven years old, my brother ran into my room when I woke up screaming at the man who stood over me, pleasuring himself.
It hadn’t been the first time, either.
But even at seven years old, I’d had enough. Enough of grown men and women touching me. I screamed when I woke up and found my father’s friend standing over my bed.
Again.
My brother killed him before he had a chance to touch me again. He rushed in and protected me. At only fifteen years old, my brother killed a man to protect me.
He didn’t know he’d been too late.
But he did stop it from ever happening again. He’d slept in my room from that night forward. Even after he got us an apartment when I was thirteen, he slept in my room until I was brave enough to sleep alone.
He kept me separate from his club. Again, working during the day while I was in school so he would be home after school to help me with my homework. He had dinner with me every night.
My brother was my best friend, my father, my teacher. He sacrificed everything for me. We were both smart. Michael could have been so much more. Instead, he dropped out of school for me. He joined an outlaw motorcycle club for me. He still put money in my account a decade later when I clearly no longer needed his help.
What I needed was my brother.
But he had walked away. That’s where the abandonment came from. Most people would see everything Michael had done for me and call me selfish for feeling abandoned.
But that was exactly what he did.
When I graduated from high school, he shipped me off to college and made it clear that I couldn’t be a part of his life anymore. He had the club, and he insisted I was made for better things.
I didn’t disagree with him. But he was made for better things, too. Only he gave them all up for me. I didn’t know anything about his life now. The only reason I knew he was still alive was the monthly deposits in my bank account.
“Dr. Jefferson?”
“Yes, Mindy?”
“Your next appointment is here.”
“Thank you. Please send them in.”
Standing from my chair, I moved around my desk and sat on the floor. Keifer Langley was seven years old and struggled to regulate his emotions from the death of his father. I was a big proponent of play therapy.
Children who couldn’t put their feelings into words for themselves found it easier to act it out through dolls, stuffed animals, and superheroes.
He had been making great strides since he started seeing me. He was a success story I clung to when I was feeling the struggles of working with new patients. Patients like Danika, who had me questioning my ability to help.