Page 207 of Unexpected Heroine

“No, silly. That’s where we bitch about our childhoods while doing arts and crafts.” Sabrina’s laugh is surprisingly pleasant. A velvety purr that gets choppy as it grows. Never heard it before. Hope I get to hear it a lot more. Mine too.

Big brown eyes, short black pixie hair, and a pleasant face attached to the tiniest body I’ve ever seen for an adult. This woman shouldn’t go outside without ankle and wrist weights, or a breeze could blow her into the next county. Not even a stiff breeze.

Literally any breeze.

Man alive. If someone turned on a hair dryer half a mile away from her, she’d likely be pushed back a dozen feet.

Her smile is nice, though.

My new therapist, Simone, sits across from me in a well-lit and soothingly decorated room. White walls with sky blue curtains and accents. Pictures of various beach scenes line the walls. Every empty surface has an ocean-themed trinket or dust collector on it. Small colorful shells inside a larger shell on the coffee table. A lighthouse on the windowsill. A wave-shaped glass or acrylic paperweight on her desk with ocean blue crystals inside it to make it look like water. It’s even got tiny fish. Not real ones of course. That would be weird for a paperweight.

Simone clears her throat, drawing my attention away from my assessment of the overly pleasant surroundings. “Before we begin, I’d like to remind you that you’re in a safe place. There are no wrong answers. There are no stupid questions or bad reactions. You’re free to feel anything you feel. Okay?”

I nod, unsure what to say. For once in my life, the words aren’t there.

What is there?

A racing heartbeat and sweaty palms. Most likely, some serious bags under my eyes because I didn’t sleep well last night. At breakfast, Sabrina said she only sleeps about half the night. Despite feeling safe here, the nights are rough. Makes sense. They were rough at the apartment. Rough here.

Oddly enough, not so rough when I was with... him.

But we’re not thinking about him now because he is a dickhead, unworthy of my thoughts.

Even as I think it, I know it’s untrue. However, it makes me feel marginally stronger to be mad at him. Perhaps almost twenty-four hours away from the cock-cursing sisters—Stella and Freya—have left a void of Tomer bashing that I must fill.

Bah. I shove that thought away.

I don’t want to hate him or anyone. I simply wish to be myself again.

Sugar-sweet Lettie bear. Not this sourpuss.

Simone folds her hands in her lap. “Tell me what brings you here, Violet?”

“Call me Lettie.”

“Sorry about that. What brings you here, Lettie?”

My face crinkles up so much I can see my cheeks. “Huh?”

Her chuckle is soft and meek like her. “I’m just curious why you’re here.”

My hands splay out in front of me. “In therapy? Or in this facility? In Florida?”

She shrugs. “All of those topics are fine places to start. Dealer’s choice.”

“Don’t you have a file on me?” I point my chin toward her desk, where a few manila folders are stacked neatly, and shimmy my brows.

“I do.”

My inner brat is thrashing around my psyche, chomping at the bit. “You didn’t feel like reading it? I get it. Maybe wait until the movie adaptation.”

She’s neither amused nor annoyed. “I read it twice.”

It takes all my strength—and I mean absolutely all of it—to avoid asking if she has reading comprehension struggles. Being a bitch to my therapist in my first session probably won’t set the tone for a healing journey.

“Well. Hmm.” I drag my palms along the tops of my thighs, then work my arms around my midsection to give myself a hug. “I came to Florida about a year ago, after the man I thought was my father died. I decided I needed a fresh start. On his deathbed, he confessed that he was my grandfather. He said my birth mother died shortly after childbirth from complications. So he and my grandmother raised me as if I was their own.”

“So they were your grandparents?”

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