FRACTURES
My first therapy session was Dante’s idea.
“You need someone to talk to,” he’d said. Three days after testimony prep began. After watching me...
After watching me wake up screaming for the fourth night in a row. “Someone who isn’t me. Someone professional. Someone who can be of help.”
I’d refused. Initially. Therapy felt like..
Like admitting defeat. Like saying I was broken beyond what I could fix myself.
But then I’d caught my reflection. Really looked at..
At the hollow eyes. The weight loss. The tremor in my hands that wouldn’t...Wouldn’t stop.
So I agreed.
Dr. Sarah Mitchell’s office was in Tribeca. Elegant. Calm. The kind of space designed to..
To make broken people feel safe enough to shatter completely.
“Aria.” She was fifties. Kind eyes. The sort of woman who’
