Page 42 of Broken Dream

I raise my hand.

And it’s the only hand in the room.

Unreal.

Dr. Engel meets my gaze and nods. “Good. Excellent,” he says. “May I ask your name?”

“Angie Simpson, sir.”

“Thank you, Ms. Simpson.” He looks back at the class. “I know most of you are here because it’s a required course. You might think psychiatry is a lesser science, akin to reading tarot cards or telling fortunes.”

I hold back a smile. My cousin Ava loves tarot cards, and sometimes they’ve actually helped her look at her problems in a different light.

“But do not doubt that psychiatrists have one of the most challenging jobs in the medical field. We are entrusted with people’s minds, their secrets, their fears, their dreams. It is not a responsibility to be taken lightly.” But then he chuckles softly. “But don’t worry. The field also offers some of the greatest rewards.”

I can’t help but smile back at him. The other students begin to pack their bags, getting ready to leave, but I stay seated.

As the room empties, Dr. Engel walks to my chair. “Angie,” he begins, “why psychiatry?”

I’m touched that he remembers my name. “My aunt is a renowned psychiatrist. I’ve been following her journey since before I can remember. She’s always been there for me, and that’s how I got interested.”

“And your aunt is…?”

“Dr. Melanie Carmichael Steel,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows. “Dr. Steel, yes. A brilliant mind. I’ve read all her work. Her focus was childhood trauma.”

“That’s the one. She’s amazing. She’s been a great mentor to me.”

“What else about psychiatry is calling to you?” he asks.

I smile at him. “I believe that the mind is the most complex and fascinating thing about us as humans. I want to understand it better and perhaps help others understand theirs.”

He nods. “A noble pursuit. And it starts with an understanding of oneself.”

With that, he gathers his notes. With a last encouraging smile, he heads out of the room. I am left alone, feeling both exhilarated and daunted by the journey ahead.

An understanding of oneself.

I understand myself just fine.

Don’t I?

Back at my townhome, I can’t stop thinking about Dr. Engel’s words.

It starts with an understanding of oneself.

I’m a little freaked out.

I know just the person to call.

“Hello, Angie,” Aunt Melanie says through my phone.

“Hi, Aunt Mel,” I say. “How is Uncle Joe doing?”

Aunt Melanie’s husband, my uncle Jonah, is going through experimental treatment for brain cancer.

“He’s fatigued, as usual, but his physicians say he’s doing better than expected.”