Derek's first therapy session had been a disaster. He'd sat in the waiting room, his knee bouncing, his hands sweating, staring at the door like it might explode. Dr. Simmons had called his name, and he'd almost walked out. But he didn't. He'd followed her into the office, sat on the couch, and said nothing for twenty minutes.
Dr. Simmons hadn't pushed. She'd just waited. She'd asked simple questions. How are you feeling? What brought you here today? What do you want to get out of this?
Derek hadn't answered any of them. Not really. He'd mumbled. He'd shrugged. He'd stared at the floor.
But he'd come back the next week. And the week after that. And the week after that.
Now, six weeks into therapy, he was finally starting to talk.
---
“I was angry,” Derek said, his voice low, his eyes
