Chapter 28
Brooklyn stood outside the brick building for almost ten minutes before going inside. The brass plaque beside the door read:
Willow Creek Counseling Center
She had driven here twice already. The first time she'd circled the block and gone home. The second time she'd sat in the parking lot until the appointment time passed.
Today… she walked through the door.
A woman in her sixties looked up from behind the reception desk. "Hi."
Brooklyn smiled nervously. "I have an appointment."
"Brooklyn Shaw?"
"Yes."
"She's just finishing with another client." The receptionist smiled kindly. "You're welcome to have a seat."
Brooklyn sat. Her knee bounced relentlessly. The waiting room was quiet.
A bookshelf stood against one wall filled with titles about grief, anxiety, family systems, and relationships. Her eyes caught on one title.
Boundaries.
She looked away. A door opened. A young man stepped out thanking the therapist before leaving. The therapist smiled toward Brooklyn.
"Brooklyn?"
She stood.
"I'm Dr. Perez."
Brooklyn shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too."
Dr. Perez led her into a small office with two comfortable chairs and a window overlooking a little garden. There were no diplomas displayed prominently. No intimidating bookshelf.
Just… plants. Soft light. Quiet.
Brooklyn sat carefully.
Dr. Perez settled into the chair opposite her. "What brings you here?"
Brooklyn had prepared an answer. She'd rehearsed it all morning. Instead she heard herself say,
"I ruined the most important friendship of my life."
The words hung in the room.
Dr. Perez nodded gently. "Tell me about that."
Brooklyn looked down at her hands.
"I don't think that's actually where the story starts."
Dr. Perez smiled. "Where do you think it starts?"
Brooklyn laughed softly. "I honestly don't know."
"Then that's a perfectly good place to begin."
Silence settled between them.
Finally Brooklyn whispered, "I don't know who I am if nobody needs me."
Dr. Perez didn't rush to answer. She simply let the sentence exist. After nearly a minute she asked,
"When did you first learn that being needed made you feel safe?"
Brooklyn cried then. Not the desperate crying she'd done after Luke left the park. Not the ashamed crying after she'd confessed about the anonymous notes.
This was quieter.
Older somehow.
Like grief finally finding its real address.
An hour later, Brooklyn stepped back into the autumn sunshine carrying nothing but her purse. She sat in her car for a long moment without starting the engine.
For years she had believed home meant a place.
Then a family.
Then one person.
Dr. Perez had asked her something just before the session ended.
"What if home isn't somewhere someone lets you stay?"
"What if it's something you build yourself?"
Brooklyn rested her forehead against the steering wheel. She started the engine.
Instead of driving toward the Morettis' neighborhood the way she had done almost automatically for years… she turned the opposite direction.
As the afternoon sun broke through the clouds and spilled across the windshield, Brooklyn realized something she hadn't felt in months.
Movement.
Forward, in a new direction.