Page 81 of Rampage

As I follow her into her office, I glance back at the building's entrance where I know Reid waits, solid and constant. Then I square my shoulders and step forward into this new chapter, ready to face my past so I can fully claim my future.

Ninety minutes later, I step out of Dr. Levine's office feeling surprisingly lighter. The session wasn't easy—discussing Frank's control, the years of abuse, the nightmares that still sometimes wake me—but Dr. Levine's approach was different from what I'd feared. No forced catharsis, no pressure to share more than I was ready to. Instead, she listened with compassionate attention, offered insights, and gave me practical techniques for managing flashbacks.

"You did beautifully today, Lily," she said as our time ended. "Healing isn't linear, but you've already taken the hardest step by coming here."

Reid straightens immediately when he sees me exit the building, his eyes scanning my face with tender concern. I offer him a small but genuine smile as I slide into the passenger seat.

"How was it?" he asks, reaching for my hand.

"Good, actually," I admit, surprised by my own words. "She's… not what I expected. In a good way."

Relief softens his features. "I'm proud of you," he says, squeezing my fingers. "Taking this step couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't," I acknowledge. "But it feels right. Like something I should have done a long time ago."

As Reid pulls away from the curb, I check the time on my phone. "Would you mind dropping me at Sweet Surrender?

"The bakery?" Reid's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I thought you were taking the day off."

"I was, but Mrs. Winters texted during my session. She couldn't find anyone else to cover." I shrug, trying to appear casual, though my stomach flutters with nervous excitement. "I've been wanting to learn more about the baking side anyway."

Reid studies me at a stoplight, his expression thoughtful. "You sure you're up for it? After the session?"

"I'm sure," I say with more confidence than I feel. "It'll be good to keep busy, to do something normal." I hesitate, then add, "Besides, I like it there. It feels… peaceful."

His expression softens with understanding. "Okay. But call me if you need anything. I can pick you up after my shift at the hospital."

"I'll be fine," I assure him. "Mrs. Winters said I can stay until closing.”

The bakery comes into view, its cheerful blue awning and window boxes overflowing with flowers a stark contrast to the memories I've been processing. As Reid pulls up to the curb, he leans over to kiss me, his lips gentle against mine.

"I'm so proud of you," he murmurs. "For all of it—the therapy, and moving forward with your life."

His praise warms me from the inside out. "Thank you for being patient," I tell him.

I lean over and press my lips to his once more. "I'll see you tonight," I whisper against his mouth, savoring his warmth before pulling away.

His eyes linger on mine, tender and protective. "Tonight," he confirms.

I climb out of the truck, watching him drive away before turning toward the bakery. The bell chimes cheerfully as I push open the door, the sweet aroma of vanilla and cinnamon wrapping around me like a hug.

"Lily!" Mrs. Winters exclaims, flour dusting her forearms as she emerges from behind the counter. "Thank heavens you could come. I'm absolutely swamped with orders for the hospital fundraiser."

"Happy to help," I say, tying an apron around my waist.

The next hour passes in a flurry of activity, measuring ingredients, learning to pipe perfect rosettes, and sliding trays of cookies into industrial ovens. Mrs. Winters is patient but exacting, demonstrating techniques with practiced hands before watching me try.

"You've got natural talent," she praises when I master a particularly tricky frosting technique. "Most people take weeks to get that right."

Pride blooms in my chest, unfamiliar but welcome. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I move through the bakery, arranging displays and boxing special orders. There's something deeply satisfying about creating something beautiful, something that brings joy to others.

Between customers, Mrs. Winters shares stories about the bakery—how she started it thirty years ago after her husband died, how it supported her through raising three children alone.

"Baking saved me," she confides, showing me how to fold chocolate into batter without deflating it. "Gave me purpose when I felt lost."

I understand completely. The rhythmic nature of baking—measuring, mixing, waiting—creates a sense of order and accomplishment I've rarely experienced. Here, in this warm kitchen, with its predictable chemistry and delicious results, I feel capable. Whole.

"I heard Meadow finally reported that doctor," Mrs. Winters says casually as we prepare the afternoon coffee. "About time someone stood up to him."

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