The moment I finished signing, Sabrina gently took the contract from my hands, her fingers warm, steady—too steady for the storm unraveling inside me.
“Thumper,” she said softly, folding the papers with care, “you need to stop for a moment and really think clearly. Because right now, you’re lying to yourself about how things truly are.”
Her words didn’t come as an attack. They came like concern. Like someone speaking to a wounded animal that didn’t realize how badly it was bleeding.
“I’m not a psychologist,” she continued, her voice calm but firm, “but what I see is someone stuck in trauma that’s slowly killing her. And I don’t want you waking up in a hospital again because you’re punishing yourself for surviving. Please—don’t keep doing this. Seek help. Live the life you’re still here
