Page 5 of Imprisoned

The parking lot stretches before me, a sea of empty spaces under the setting sun. My sensible Toyota sits alone in the corner where I parked it this morning.

A car door slams somewhere behind me. My heart jumps into my throat, but it’s just another staff member leaving for the day.

The drive home takes twenty minutes, past familiar neighborhoods and storefronts. My breathing steadies as I pull into our driveway. Light spills from the kitchen window, and the smell of Mom’s lasagna greets me when I open the front door.

“Willow? That you, honey?”

“Yeah, Mom.” I drop my briefcase by the stairs and kick off my heels.

Mom appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “How was your first day?”

“It was...” I pause, considering how much to share. No need to worry her with the details. “Different than I expected, but good, I think.”

“Come tell me all about it.” She hugs me, and I inhale her familiar vanilla and fabric softener scent. “I made your favorite.”

I sink into my kitchen chair, the familiar warmth of home wrapping around me like a blanket. Mom sets a steaming plate of lasagna in front of me, and the knots in my shoulders loosen.

“The morning was rough,” I admit. “One patient wouldn’t even look at me. Just sat there, silent. I felt so inadequate.”

Mom reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Everyone has tough starts, sweetie.”

“I know. Dr. Pierce—Eleanor—she was amazing, though. We had lunch together, and she shared stories from her early days. Made me feel less alone, you know?” The memory of ourconversation brings a smile to my face. “She’s been there twenty years, heads the medical services. Such a wealth of knowledge.”

“That’s wonderful that you’ve found a mentor already.”

“The afternoon sessions went much better. One inmate really opened up about his anxiety. We made actual progress.” I take another bite, savoring the familiar taste of home. “It felt right like I was finally doing what I trained for.”

Mom beams at me, pride shining in her eyes. “See? I knew you could do it.”

“Oh, and I met another colleague. Dr. Jameson from the psych ward.” I push a piece of garlic bread around my plate. “He stopped by my office to check how my first day went.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug, not meeting her eyes. “He invited me for drinks after work, but something felt off. I can’t explain it.”

“Always trust your instincts.” Mom’s voice takes on that protective edge I know so well. “If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.”

“Don’t worry, I turned him down.” I force a smile, not wanting her to stress. “Said I was too tired, which wasn’t exactly a lie. You know what?” I set down my fork, surprising myself. “Despite everything, I think today went better than I expected.”

Mom raises an eyebrow. “Even with that difficult patient this morning?”

“That’s just it.” I lean back, letting the kitchen’s warmth and Mom’s cooking wash over me. “Those first three sessions were awful. I felt like such a fraud, but then everything shifted after lunch. The other inmates actually listened. They shared. One even thanked me at the end of our session.”

“That’s wonderful.” Mom serves herself another helping of lasagna. “You’ve worked so hard for this.”

“I kept thinking about all the ways I could mess up. All the things that could go wrong.” I smile. “Instead, I had real conversations. Made actual connections. It feels right.”

“You’re glowing.” Mom reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “This is exactly what you were meant to do.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I squeeze back, grateful for her unwavering support. “I know it’s the first day, but maybe I can do this. Maybe I’m not completely in over my head.”

The lasagna tastes better now, flavored with newfound confidence. Three difficult sessions couldn’t erase the victories that followed.

3

WILLOW

Iglance at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes, my attention split between my current patient and the looming afternoon session.

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