Page 228 of Unexpected Heroine

Ha. Attempt. Not succeed. Thanks, ADHD.

“Ah. I have a better metaphor. Less disgusting. You know how medications either treat the symptoms or the cause of a sickness?”

She nods.

“Right, if you only treat the symptoms, the problem will persist. You must fix the root cause. At a minimum, reduce your exposure to the thing that’s hurting you.”

“And meeting your father will do that?”

“Yes. Exactly.” I fling my open palm out in front of me. “My birth father is the root of everything. I think.” I scratch my head, realizing that doesn’t quite make the sense I thought it did.

Attempting a correction, I clarify, “I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t found out about him in the way I did. Eventually, I would’ve scheduled outpatient therapy. In fact, I was leaning in that direction before the dad bomb was dropped on me. However, the reason I’m living here is because when I found out about him, my entire world was shattered. I had to leave Tomer. Had to leave the comfort and safety he gave me. And now I’m so freaking mad about it. Mad at him. Mad at the situation. Through no fault of my own, my life went from pretty dang good—finally—to this shit show. I don’t want to be mad anymore. It’s time to fix that.”

“Lettie, this is a process. You’re in the very early stages of dealing with what happened to you. This isn’t something you can rush through. It’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to be resentful or sad. You don’t need to fix that right away. Feel your feelings. Don’t try to cage them.”

“I’m not trying to cage them. Not exactly. I’m more or less speaking about the healing aspect. Attempting to treat any of my wounds while I’m continuing to be wounded is pointless. I can put on bandage after bandage, but until the knife stops stabbing me, it won’t matter. We’re fighting a losing battle until I start to repair this injustice—one that affects not only me but my bio dad too. We gotta get at the root cause.”

Tears of anger flood my eyes, and I quickly wipe them before they spill too far down my cheeks. My breathing accelerates, coming fast and erratically.

“And you’re sure he’s the root cause, huh? Not the sexual trauma? Not the deceit by the man you love?”

“My father is absolutely the root cause of everything. Not only the cause of why I’m here. He’s also the cause of why I was hurt to begin with.”

“What do you mean?”

“The damn reason they took me was to get back at him for something he did. I was targeted by the motherfucking mafia because I’m the daughter of a man I’ve never met.”

Oops. I hadn’t told Simone that yet. And her stark expression change proves it.

With her hand cupping her mouth to shield her gasp, she asks, “Say what now? You were targeted because of your birth father? How do you know that?”

Fuck.

Eating my words isn’t possible at this juncture, so I roll with it and explain what Viktor told me. The creepy crawlies traveling over my body pass quickly because I’m so freaking mad.

“Wow. Lettie. Just . . . wow.”

I’m going to publish a book one day. How to Render Your Therapist Speechless by Violet Holt, certified walking disaster.

“Anyhow. The root problem isn’t resolved. It’s still happening. Not knowing him caused the entire clusterbiff. How can I heal if the thing hurting me isn’t done hurting me? Do you see what I mean?”

Her throat bobs with a forced swallow. “Yes. I do.”

Reaching forward, she picks up her pen and notebook from the table. She pointedly draws a line through one of the bullets on the list. Looks like it was at the top of the page, where the items she came prepared to discuss were listed. Not my two topics near the bottom of the page.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “What did you cross out?”

With a gleam in her eyes, she answers, “The item was,” she leans forward, reading it verbatim, “Lettie needs to realize she wasn’t responsible for what happened to her.” And she winks.

“Huh?”

“I can’t recall the exact quote, but you just expressed that your life went from good to bad because of something that was no fault of your own.”

Some of what I ranted and raved about swirls through my mind as I try to play it all back.

You could swat my behind with a melon rind. She’s right. I said it, and more importantly, I meant it.

I hold out my open palm, reaching across the table. My face slowly morphs, a grin blossoming into a wide smile until it overtakes my whole face. It’s lighting me up like fireworks on a summer night.

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