Chapter 19
The last two weeks had been the worst.
Daniel and I had fought constantly. He was as determined to leave as I was to stay.
The yelling, the arguing, the awful things we hurled at each other.
They kept piling up and up and up. No matter how many times we apologized or tried to smooth things over, the topic of leaving the Breakers kept circling back—again and again and again.
It came up on beach walks as the salty breeze brushed our hair and the sun kissed our skin.
It came up during boat trips as the sound of waves slapped the boat.
Dinners in the charming towns nearby weren’t safe.
For God’s sake, the Breakers even came up during a lighthouse tour—literally in front of a group of tourists.
Daniel launched into it again just because I mentioned that the ocean view reminded me of the one from our bedroom at the Breakers.
I’d never seen him like that before, as if he really believed the Breakers would kill us both.
It didn’t help that he’d started working again, at least part-time.
After the large cargo ship sank, his company relied on him to manage everything.
He arranged meetings at their Portland, Maine office, just far enough that he could make the drive a few times a week.
While he was gone, I was never really alone.
Either Hudson or Tara shadowed me around the house like quiet spies.
They were always nearby, always watching.
I met with Anna three times a week and started my antipsychotics, prescribed by the psychiatrist. The pills made my head foggy, dulled the sharpness of the world, left my limbs heavy by evening. However, I hadn’t had a single psychotic episode. Not one.
At night, I took my pills for the nightmares, which I barely had anymore.
I was the model psych patient. Textbook stable. Calm. In control.
But was that a good thing?
The thought slipped out as I sat in the garden with the dogs, the afternoon sun warming the wood beneath my legs. One of the dogs, Muffin, sighed and shifted closer to my foot. My MacBook rested on my lap as Anna’s face filled the screen.
“No more hallucinations about the woman in the basement?”
I shook my head. “But there’s still that one percent that thinks she was real. It keeps whispering, even when it makes no sense.”
“It’s normal to question reality after hallucinations.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“How are the nightmares?”
“I haven’t had any lately. But honestly, I’m struggling with it. I keep wondering if the meds are helping me or just getting in the way.”
She tilted her head gently, her voice sharp but kind. “Are you wondering if it would be better to stop some of your medications?” she asked.
“I mean, that nightmare I had about my scar. It scared the hell out of me, but it also gave me something. It felt like a piece of my memory was trying to find its way back to me. And all these meds, they keep the nightmares away, yeah, but it’s like they also keep everything else locked up.”
My fingers slid through the dog fur at my side.
“I can’t even remember a time I wasn’t taking something.
I’ve been on medication since I was a teenager.
But ever since we came to the Breakers—I don’t know how to say this, but it’s like .
. . it’s like this place is trying to help me fight.
Like it wants to help me remember what happened. It’s trying to give me back my life.”
Anna leaned back in her seat. The wall behind her was lined with shelves filled with plants and books. Most were therapy-related titles about trauma, grief, cognitive something, but a few well-worn romance novels and thrillers had been squeezed between them.
“I have to be honest, I always recommend following your psychiatrist’s advice when it comes to medications. They recommend them for important reasons,” she said.
My shoulders slumped.
“But,” she added, and my head lifted again.
“Nobody can force you to take medications you don’t want, Emily.
You’re not in an involuntary psych ward.
You’re not suicidal or homicidal. If you were to stop your meds, nobody would report it or force you to take them again.
I’m only mandated to report self-harm, child abuse, or homicidal ideation. ”
“So . . . I could just stop my medication altogether?”
Her expression sobered. “Well, it’s not safe to suddenly stop antidepressants or benzodiazepines.
That can lead to serious complications, sometimes even suicidal thoughts and deadly seizures.
But other meds, like your nightmare medication, are usually safer to stop cold.
In most cases, there’s no withdrawal. Still, it needs to be discussed with your psychiatrist. I want to be really clear, I’m not telling you to stop anything.
I’m saying there are some medications you can ask to stop.
You can insist. Nobody can force pills into your body if there’s no self-harm or harm to others involved. ”
I let that sit for a second. My next check-in with the psychiatrist was in a few days, but I already knew how it would go. He’d fight me on this, withdrawal or not.
“If I may,” Anna said. “If you’re thinking about stopping anything, maybe also think about timing. Is now really the best time, with everything else going on?”
Yes. Now was the exact right time. The flashbacks were horrible, but they felt like pieces of me trying to break through the fog. I was unraveling either way. I had to find a way to dig up memories too deep for pills to reach.
I nodded. “Thank you, Anna.”
She nodded back, but the concern didn’t leave her face. “Will you promise me that you’ll talk to your psychiatrist first? Don’t stop anything on your own. It can be really dangerous. I’m not a doctor, and I can’t say for sure what’s safe and what’s not.”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “I’ll see him in a few days.” That was true, and it would make her think I was saying yes.
“Good. We have about five more minutes. You said earlier you had an important question for me?”
“Yeah.” I straightened on the bench. “The nightmares. They keep circling back to my childhood. And I told you how I haven’t spoken to my parents in a long time?”
“Yes. I remember. Very understandable, from what you told me about them. Especially the parts about your uncle’s rape attempt and your mother covering it up.”
“Yes.” It still hurt, even now, all these years later. “I wonder if it’s time to confront my parents about the scar on my neck. My dad. And my mom. Ask her why she enabled him. Ask him if he feels any remorse. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Only you can answer that, Emily,” Anna said gently. “It would be incredibly stressful for you to contact them, and it could trigger another psychotic episode. Do the benefits you’re hoping for outweigh the emotional risks?”
My hand moved over the fur of the old, one-eyed shepherd curled near my feet. The allergy meds had kicked in, so at least the bumps on my skin were gone.
“Yes,” I finally said, clear and steady.
The certainty in my voice caught even me off guard.
“I don’t expect her to apologize or thank me for defending her against my dad, but maybe she’ll finally admit there was abuse.
I just . . . I feel like it could bring me closure to confront them. To tell them what it cost me.”
Anna tilted her head, not looking fully convinced. “It’s your right to call them. The timing is yours too. But maybe, maybe we could try to talk to them in a session? Invite them in. Even over speakerphone. No need for a laptop or video call.”
“The chance of that happening is almost zero,” I said. “They’d never do anything for me.”
“That must hurt a lot.”
“It does,” I admitted. “But not as bad as it used to. Not now that I have Daniel.” Even saying his name stung. The tension between us, the fights—every day chipped away at us a little more. Our relationship was strained, fragile in ways I hadn’t wanted to admit. Of course, Anna noticed.
“We could always invite him to a session too.”
“That’s actually starting to sound like a good idea.” A small breath left my chest. “He’d do it. No doubt about that.”
“Well,” Anna said, leaning back slightly, “feel free to talk to him. I’ll leave it up to you. This is your therapy, Emily. You’re in the driver’s seat.”
“Thank you, Anna.”
Her glance at the corner of the screen told me we were out of time.
“Well, I’ll see you Thursday, right?” she asked.
“Yes. Ten a.m.”
“Keep writing your triggers in the journal. And make sure to talk to the psychiatrist before stopping any meds. Don’t stop them on your own.”
I smiled at her. “See you Thursday, Anna.”
“Take care.”