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"She has." I glanced to the door then back to Anita. "Our time is almost up."

She chuckled and crossed her legs. "Are you trying to shut down this session because of the difficult topics?"

"No." I laughed and shook my head. "The clock says so."

"I don't have any other patients today, so if we need more time, I'm happy to keep working with you."

"Thank you…"

"But since we have a pause in narrative. Would you entertain talking about medicine again, Rosie?"

I nodded and set the pillow aside. "I'll take the anxiety medicine again."

"We can try again if you'd like. We can do it as needed, or you can go back to twice a day. It's up to you."

"Can we do once a day? Maybe at night?"

"We can do that, too." She nodded. "Maybe a smaller dose so that it might relax you, but not too much?"

"Yeah." I perked up at the idea. "We can."

"Good. The hope is that you can live your life comfortably and not tortured, Rosie. That's all. If medications help support you, it might be worth it." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Do you mind if I send it in now?"

"You can. Sure." I watched as she poked at her phone. "I don't like relying on medicine."

"There are many medical conditions that require supportive medications to improve the quality of life. Like diabetes, for example. Without insulin, people with diabetes could die or suffer terrible conditions," she said, glancing up at me.

"I know. Mental health just feels different," I said, taking a deep breath.

"Because of stigma. And because our world makes us feel like mental health conditions are weaknesses when they're not."

"Yeah." I nodded my agreement. "I feel like that sometimes."

She pocketed her phone and met my gaze again. "Not weaknesses. Just differences."

"Differences," I repeated while I considered the notion.

"Oh my God," a muffled voice from the waiting area exclaimed. Both Anita and I looked to the door. The voices picked up, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

I thought of Sam right away and bolted from the sofa. Anita wasn't a beat behind and slid between me and the door before I could open it.

"Just a minute," she said, her arm stretched out to block me from leaving first. It only made my heart pound more and I gripped the center of my sweater. She pulled the door open and only Sam and another woman stood in the waiting area.

They faced each other, Sam's lips pursed with her face frozen, though the shimmering in her eyes told me something more. The woman, with a complexion of deep bronze and long black hair that touched her waist, wore a set of purple scrubs and a stethoscope. She held her arms open to Sam, her expression laden with concern. Sam made no effort to move, neither closer nor away, she just stared.

"Sami?" called the woman as if urging her forth. I wasn't sure of the exchange that occurred before hand, but the way she spoke her name sounded as if laden with an, "Are you okay?" tone. In a sudden burst of energy, Sam rushed her, and the woman caught her in a firm embrace. She cupped the back of Sam's head, and Sam covered her face with one hand while they hugged.

The two of them didn't seem to notice us at first until the woman holding Sam met Anita's gaze. They shared a long, heavy stare until they broke apart.

"What are you doing here?" asked Sam, her voice raspy before she cleared her throat.

"Are you here to see Anita?" The woman held on to Sam's elbows, and Sam's hands shook faintly against her forearms. Their questions burst forth at the same time.

"No, I—Wait. This is your Anita?" Sam gestured toward us, blinking away the emotion that misted her gaze.

"Of course." The woman nodded, a small smile lifting her worried expression. "You're so thin, Sami…"

Sam made to answer but Anita chimed in.