Cathy rushed around the house, double and triple checking that everything was perfect. She couldn’t stop the behavior at that moment, even if she recognized it as a trauma response. Her mind raced, telling her that everything needed to look perfect when they arrived. Her anxiety refused to let her sit still, and having something to do was better than bouncing her legs uncontrollably. She checked herself in the mirror and was happy to see that her makeup hid the tiny scar by her right eye. A knock at the door sent her rushing to the living room.
She smoothed her clothes and deeply breathed before checking the peephole. She was a little disappointed. She opened the door to her neighbor down the street. “Hi, Abby, come on in.” The woman gave her a tight smile, “Oh no. I just wanted to come
