By the time I finished, the tightness in my chest had eased. Just a little.
I wiped my hands on a towel and turned toward the hallway, preparing myself for today’s session with Ichika. Therapy had become another anchor for me—something to hold onto as I tried to rebuild myself from the ruins of my past.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at my door.
“Hey,” Ichika greeted, stepping inside with her usual warmth. “Ready for today’s session?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She settled into the chair across from me, pulling out her notepad. “Alright. Today, I want to focus on something we haven’t talked about much—your perception of safety.”
I frowned slightly. “Safety?”
“Yes.” She met my gaze with a steady, reassuring look. “Over the past few weeks, you’ve been in survival mode, constantly
