Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER
The thick, humid air of Cairns enveloped Nyah as she stepped out of her dad’s air-conditioned car and onto the driveway.
She still couldn’t believe he’d been stubborn enough to be the one to come and pick her up, but she also knew Rae wouldn’t have had a say now that her dad was enjoying being somewhat more mobile.
Late-afternoon sunshine simmered the earth beneath her feet, and the scent of rain lingered from an earlier downpour, mingling with the salt-tinged breeze wafting in from the Coral Sea.
She paused for a moment, gazing at the front door of her father and Rae’s house with a mixture of trepidation and longing.
This had always been her sanctuary, but now it felt like a silent witness to her splintered heart.
If only she could fast-forward time, so this part of the healing journey would be finished.
But here she was, right at the beginning, and already missing Caleb like crazy.
‘I bet you Ragnar is spinning in circles right now,’ Robert said with a chuckle as he carefully closed the distance between them, the walking stick aiding his limping steps.
‘I hope so.’ With a deep breath that did little to steady her trembling heart, she smiled through the swirling anguish as they made their way over to the front door. ‘It’s going to be so good to see him.’
Slipping the key into the lock, her dad opened the wooden door and, as suspected, a whirlwind of black fur sidelined him and surged towards her, nearly knocking her off balance.
‘Ragnar,’ Nyah cried with joy as the giant poodle bounded up, his squishy toy duck squeaking incessantly between his teeth.
‘Hey there, buddy, I’ve missed you.’ His exuberance was a balm to her aching heart.
‘Calm down, you crazy boy, so I can give you a hug.’ Kneeling, she let herself be enveloped by his warm, curly embrace, the familiarity of his presence grounding her.
‘Good boy,’ she said, ruffling his ears before straightening.
Rae appeared, concern etching deep lines into her soft features as she stepped out of the dimly lit hallway and onto the patio.
Without a word, she wrapped Nyah in a comforting embrace that spoke more than words ever could.
Her hands were warm and gentle, offering a foundation for Nyah to sink further into the depths of her pain, mourning not just for what was lost but also for what could never be reclaimed.
Rae was a pillar of silent strength and a steady shore against the tide of Nyah’s sorrow, and in her arms she felt her heart and soul exhale.
Ragnar, sensing the shift in atmosphere, padded over and pressed his warm body against their legs, a trio bound together in this moment of shared grief.
And time seemed to respectfully stand still as they, too, stood there, a chosen mother and her chosen daughter embracing.
‘I’ll go and pop the kettle on,’ Robert said with a gentle smile. ‘And I’ll cut us all a piece of the delicious carrot cake Rae made this morning.’
‘Perfect, thanks, Dad.’ Nyah, Rae and Ragnar following Robert inside, and Nyah pointed down the hallway. ‘I’m just going to nip to the loo.’
With Ragnar trotting faithfully at her heels, she passed framed photographs capturing moments from recent years, and from her childhood.
Pausing before the last one ever taken of her dad and his two little girls wrapped up together, she couldn’t help but reach out, her fingertips brushing the glass as if she could somehow bridge the gap between life and death.
‘Forgive me, Skye,’ she whispered, her voice laden with a sorrow almost too heavy to bear. ‘I hope you can rest now, little sis.’
A small whimper had her glancing down at Ragnar, his brown eyes brimming with a concern beyond human understanding. ‘Thanks, buddy, love you too.’
Although she’d heal enough to be able to live with optimism in her heart, Nyah also knew she’d carry this ache, this love for her sister etched into the marrow of her bones, forever.
Somehow, some way, amid her grief, she’d find a way to move on, to live her life to the full—not just because Skye would want her to, but for herself, and for Ragnar.
Her four-legged friend needed his human companion to be whole.
So tomorrow, as much as she didn’t want to face everything or talk about the deaths of her sister and her mother, she’d be proactive and make an appointment to see her psychologist. No ifs, buts or maybes.
She needed to live what she preached. Hurt people hurt people, and she refused to be a person who did that.
***
Three days later, fulfilling the promise made to herself, and then to Rae and her father over a cuppa and some cake, Nyah stepped into the psychologist’s office, a sanctuary of muted colours, plush cushions and shelves lined with books promising understanding and healing.
The air carried a subtle scent of lavender and citrus, intentionally soothing, as was the gentle energy of her longtime therapist.
‘Please come in, Nyah,’ Doctor Madeline Hibbert said with a kind smile, gesturing towards the same comfortable chair Nyah had sat in before, over the years, as needed.
The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the cosy room, creating a soothing background noise as she settled into the plush armchair across from her therapist. Drawing in a breath, she took in every detail of the room—from the diplomas hanging on the wall to the neatly arranged tissues on the side table.
Everything was designed to provide comfort, yet the weight on her chest felt no lighter.
But she knew that in this space, if she could allow herself to peel back the layers of her armour, she could expose the raw and painful wounds beneath.
It would be the first step in a journey that would take her through both familiar and unknown territories within herself.
And she wanted that, so very much.
Madeline’s voice was soft and unintrusive as she asked, ‘Would you like to start, Nyah, or would you prefer to sit for a little while longer?’
‘No, I’m happy to start talking.’ Nyah glanced over the walls, painted in a calming shade of blue, and to a large window allowing natural light to flood in.
‘No matter what I do, go for a run, meditate, cook, go to work…I feel like I’m drowning,’ she began.
‘I just want the heartache, and my self-blame, to stop.’ Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed the tears from her cheeks.
‘Sorry,’ she blabbered as she blew her nose.
‘Please, don’t apologise, and there’s no rush. Just when you’re ready, Nyah.’
Taking a few breaths, Nyah continued, and her words spilled out in a rush, each one heavy with the guilt that had been her constant companion since her sister’s disappearance, a guilt her mother had planted, watered and tended to until Nyah had been left with no choice but to cut ties.
A guilt she had tried to shield herself from, but which now felt unbearably heavy.
She explained how helping the kids at work helped her.
She spoke of the relentless what-ifs that haunted her sleep, the sharp pangs of regret that seized her when she woke from nightmares, and the overwhelming feeling that she’d failed the one person in this world she had loved the most.
‘Survivor’s guilt is a heavy burden to bear,’ Madeline said gently, offering a small nod of understanding.
‘It sure is.’ Nyah bit her quivering lip. ‘Thank you,’ she finally said, her voice stronger, even if just slightly. ‘For listening.’
‘Always,’ came the simple reply—an affirmation that in this room, Nyah wouldn’t have to navigate the depths of her grief alone.
‘Your dedication to the kids at school is truly remarkable,’ Madeline said, breaking the stillness. ‘But how are you holding up when you’re not being their pillar?’
Nyah’s shoulders tensed at the question, and she took a deep breath before responding. ‘Some days it feels like I’m using a teaspoon to hold back an ocean,’ she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.
Madeline nodded empathetically. ‘Yet you do it anyway,’ she pointed out, admiration evident in her tone.
‘Yes, because they need someone,’ Nyah replied, her gaze falling to her colourful bohemian-patterned skirt, a contrast to the dullness she felt inside. ‘And maybe because I need to feel like I’m making a difference.’
‘Helping others can be healing, but it’s important to tend to your own grief as well,’ Madeline reminded her gently. ‘Because it needs its own space.’
Nyah nodded, absorbing the truth in the words, and as the next forty-five minutes unfolded she articulated her inner turmoil.
Madeline listened with patience and understanding, expertly guiding her towards self-awareness and acceptance, explaining the ways in which grief was a complex journey.
And when her hour came to an end, Nyah noticed her steps were a little lighter as she made her next appointment then left the office.
After grabbing herself a couple of sushi rolls for lunch she headed back to work, where she took a deep breath, steadying herself before stepping into her familiar building.
Making her way to her office, she passed by walls adorned with colourful children’s drawings—a poignant reminder of the trust she’d built with her young clients.
Their small voices echoed in her mind as she sat down at her desk, trying to focus on the stack of paperwork in front of her as she absentmindedly ate her salmon and avocado rolls.
A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her reverie, and a small voice called out her name. ‘Miss Love, can we talk?’ A young boy with tousled hair and worried eyes stood at her doorway.
‘Hey, Tommy.’ Pushing back from her desk, Nyah greeted him, mustering a gentle smile. ‘Nice to see you, mate.’ Her heart ached at bringing her own sorrow into this sanctuary, but as she knelt to meet his gaze, every ounce of her professional resolve took over.