Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Ana sits comfortably on my couch, her presence soothing in the dark room.
She’s wearing a cropped oatmeal cardigan, the knit soft and slightly oversized, its buttons resting just above her waist. A chocolate-brown skirt skims her hips, dotted with tiny cream polka dots.
Nude heels with slim straps wrap her crossed ankles, steady and elegant.
A golden pen lies neatly upon her clipboard; my file attached beneath it.
“I believe we have exhausted the usual routine questions, how about a different set today?” she asks.
I groan, rolling my neck at the thought of it.
“If you want the profiles, Florence, you’ve got to work with me, you know the drill. ”
I pull my feet into my lap, preparing for the agony ahead. “Shoot,” I say. Her lips twitch eagerly as she scans the paper. “Do you still blame yourself?” Ana doesn’t hesitate to ask.
I inhale subtly, quietly pondering a good enough answer to get my hands on those profiles. “If I tell you no, you’ll tell me I’m lying.” Which is the truth. Ana stopped accepting no for an answer a long time ago.
“Maybe not lying… just not truthful, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know you better over the years and you can’t keep deterring me, sweet friend.” Her smile isn’t innocent.
Hmm. Fair enough. “I’m still upset that I allowed that to happen to me. I do blame myself for allowing Ellie to witness it.”
Ana reaches for my hand, but I retreat, throwing her an apologetic look. I can’t help it, that part of the past is something I deserve to sit with. Alone.
My nails dig into my palms beneath clenched fists in my lap.
“What happened to you was not your fault, Florence. Abuse disguises itself as love, hope, obligation, fear, and survival. When someone is being abused, they are not allowing harm; they are being systematically conditioned to endure it.”
“So you’ve told me.” I grit out.
Ana continues. “Your daughter did not witness a mother who ‘let abuse happen.’ She witnessed her mother trapped in something very difficult. She witnessed you give her father plenty of chances, and the moment he turned his anger to her, you scooped Ellie up and left. For her and your unborn son. She witnessed you choose them. She witnessed you survive. Ellie and Todd would not be where they are or who they are today without you.”
My jaw ticks as I grind my teeth, fighting to allow her words to sink in. “They didn’t deserve to have a life watching their mother in permanent survival mode.”
Ana shakes her head, her hands twitching to reach for mine. “I may have only met them a few times but, Florence, when they speak of you, they speak of your strength. They speak of their mother who gave them everything. Not a whisper of weakness. Ever.”
The silence is so loud a ringing starts to form in my ears.
I bite down on my tongue; there’s so much I’ve tucked deep within me that a part of me wants to release.
I did give them everything, everything I could, due to the circumstances I put us in.
I poured from my cup until it was empty, and even then, I’d find a way to siphon more.
Ana folds her hands in her lap. “I want to hear something good now. Something you love.” I shift in the chair.
“My kids?— “
She lifts her hand, stopping me. “Maybe something you loved and lost.”
My throat tightens immediately. “Well, you know about my mother,” I murmur. Ana nods once, waiting. “I had a brother.”
She smiles gently. “Tell me about him.”
I stare at the floor, a few minutes roll by before I look up again.
“There’s a video,” I whisper. “My dad had a camcorder back when those were still a big deal. He recorded everything for a while.”
“Okay,” Ana says gently. “What’s on the video?” I exhale.
“The last normal day.”
The evening sun is coming through the trailer windows too brightly.
The camera is shaky because my dad never holds it still.
My little brother, Thomas, keeps getting too close to the lens, his eye filling the whole screen, squealing, “Cheese!” He laughs every time, our oldest sibling, Wade, pulling him back onto the kitchen chair.
“Quit foggin’ the camera, boy,” Dad says, but he’s laughing too,
I’m sitting cross-legged in between them. We’re eating spaghetti and toasted hot dog buns.
Dad swings the camera to my mom, washing the dishes, then back to us. “Are y’all happy?” he asks.
We don’t even hesitate. Thomas plops a big kiss on my cheek. “Yes!” we squeal in union. The camera lingers. We’re smiling. We are happy. Painfully unaware of what awaits. No one is scared. It’s just noise and sunlight and kids laughing over each other.
I remember thinking nothing bad existed outside of that moment. I didn’t know it was the last time. I stop talking. Ana doesn’t speak as I stare at my hands, fresh drops of blood in the indention of my nails.
“He died that night,” I say quietly. Silence fills my living room. “I keep replaying that video,” I whisper. “Not because I want to remember him.” My voice breaks. “Because I want to warn us.”
Ana leans forward slightly. “Warn you about what?”
“That it doesn’t stay. Just because you love something,” I begin, gesturing helplessly as I fight to find the right words.
“You can’t save everyone.” My breathing becomes uneven as I close my hands.
“That was the beginning, where I learned if I love something, I will lose it.” I look up at her.
“So, I try to get to things before the moment they’re taken away. ”
I slip my mask delicately into place, unwilling to allow my friend the satisfaction of finally getting to me after all these years. “Now tell me what you learned about me from that.”
She sighs. “Florence.” Ana’s shoulders sag, her pen slipping from her hand. “Your trauma isn’t triggered by danger. It’s triggered by safety, and that’s what concerns me the most.”
I suck my teeth and nod guardedly. “Next question.”
Ana hums, studying my features. “Who are you when you aren’t protecting yourself or someone else?”
I chuckle, twirling a strand of my hair. “You’re looking at her. But that’s kind of an impossible question considering my line of work.”
Ana inclines her head, tracing the polka dots along the fabric of her skirt. “But you get to clock out from your job. Do you clock out from protecting yourself?”
My jaw sets. “No. Why would I?”
Scribbling a note onto her board, she counters. “Does it not get exhausting?” Her brow arches.
“It’s no different than taking my next breath,” I snap back.
“Breath is meant to be effortless, Florence. Guarding yourself constantly isn’t. Protection doesn’t have to be a solo assignment. What would happen if you let your team have your back for once?”
“Trusting people has a terrible success rate. Even talking to you right now is like talking to a cop, anything I say can and will be used against me.” I wink at her.
She huffs. “Try again.”
I exhale dramatically. “Because every time, I’ve let my guard down I’ve paid for it.
Thomas died. Life eventually got somewhat normal.
Then mom died. In between was Devin. Then spending all these years as a single mom.
Life won’t let me pause. There’s so much more… ” I trail off, clamping my mouth shut.
She nods, checking a box. “That belief has gotten you through some of the toughest years, but it was never meant to be permanent. What he did was wrong. You paid for someone else’s poor choices, Florence, they weren’t your own.”
Ana scribbles again, and without looking up she continues. “Let me ask you this— do you trust God with your tomorrow? Do you believe he can guide you, like the shepherd he is?” She sits at the edge of the couch now, her expectant eyes darting to mine for a breakthrough.
“Yes…” I warily respond.
“You don’t sound so confident in that,” Ana pushes.
Ugh. “Yes, I believe I can trust him with tomorrow. He is my shepherd, as you said.” Even if it feels impossible… I still say that last part confidentially.
“Okay. But if you say you trust God to be your shepherd, then why are you always on watch?”
I whirl around to the knock at the door, jolting me from her hypnotizing question. I quietly gather myself, stretching from my sunken spot. “That must be Nyx. Have I earned the profiles now?”