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But even at seven years old, I’d had enough. Enough of grown men and women touching me. I screamed when I woke up and found my father’s friend standing over my bed.

Again.

My brother killed him before he had a chance to touch me again. He rushed in and protected me. At only fifteen years old, my brother killed a man to protect me.

He didn’t know he’d been too late.

But he did stop it from ever happening again. He’d slept in my room from that night forward. Even after he got us an apartment when I was thirteen, he slept in my room until I was brave enough to sleep alone.

He kept me separate from his club. Again, working during the day while I was in school so he would be home after school to help me with my homework. He had dinner with me every night.

My brother was my best friend, my father, my teacher. He sacrificed everything for me. We were both smart. Michael could have been so much more. Instead, he dropped out of school for me. He joined an outlaw motorcycle club for me. He still put money in my account a decade later when I clearly no longer needed his help.

What I needed was my brother.

But he had walked away. That’s where the abandonment came from. Most people would see everything Michael had done for me and call me selfish for feeling abandoned.

But that was exactly what he did.

When I graduated from high school, he shipped me off to college and made it clear that I couldn’t be a part of his life anymore. He had the club, and he insisted I was made for better things.

I didn’t disagree with him. But he was made for better things, too. Only he gave them all up for me. I didn’t know anything about his life now. The only reason I knew he was still alive was the monthly deposits in my bank account.

“Dr. Jefferson?”

“Yes, Mindy?”

“Your next appointment is here.”

“Thank you. Please send them in.”

Standing from my chair, I moved around my desk and sat on the floor. Keifer Langley was seven years old and struggled to regulate his emotions from the death of his father. I was a big proponent of play therapy.

Children who couldn’t put their feelings into words for themselves found it easier to act it out through dolls, stuffed animals, and superheroes.

He had been making great strides since he started seeing me. He was a success story I clung to when I was feeling the struggles of working with new patients. Patients like Danika, who had me questioning my ability to help.

Chapter Two

Melissa

December 8, 2024, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

“Danika has made great progress in such a short time. Today, I would like to let her play in the play center while the three of us talk over here.”

My office was large enough to include a play center as well as a seating area for the parents. In my practice, I encouraged the parents to be in the room with their children whenever possible.

And when I wanted to speak with the parents, it helped the children to have something to do while we spoke.

“She hasn’t played by herself at home. We sit with her, or she follows us around the house,” Dante informed me.

“Let’s give her a chance and see what she does. I’d like you both to sit on the couch while I walk her over.”

“Should one of us do that? So she knows we’re still here.”

“Dante.” I heard the warning in Danny’s voice, and I smiled. It was evident that Dante was having the harder time adjusting to Danika. I knew guilt had a lot to do with it, which was why I wanted to speak with them today.

“She will be able to see you, and if she chooses to come back over on her own, we will let her sit with us. But it is important to give her the opportunity to learn on her own while she knows you are close by.”