Page 18 of Her Final Hours

Dr. Newbury raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “No need,” she said calmly, her voice carrying a gentle authority. With a hand wave, she gestured toward the chair he had vacated and stood in the doorway, effectively blocking his path to the exit. “Please, have a seat. I’m glad you could make it.”

Reluctantly, Noah took his seat, his gaze drawn to the woman before him. Dr. Newbury was attractive, standing around 5 feet 8 inches tall. Her athletic build hinted at her strength and resilience. Her blonde hair was in an elegant bun, with a few loose strands framing her face. Behind a pair of stylish glasses, her eyes sparkled with a warmth that instantly put him at ease.

That day she wore professional yet approachable attire — a classy navy blazer over a crisp white blouse, completed by tailored slacks. Her air of confidence was tempered by a kind smile as if she had a genuine interest in understanding and helping.

She took her place across from him with a calm grace, the leather chair creaking softly under her weight. Her presence filled the room, commanding attention while offering solace. As Noah settled back into his seat, he couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope, a flicker of possibility that she might deliver the guidance he needed.

A stranger was a stranger, after all. She didn’t know him.

“How’s the weather outside?”

“Getting worse.”

“Yes, they have forecasted a storm. Usually, that’s the way. One last hurrah before we enter spring.” She glanced out a window over her shoulder. He saw it for what it was. Small talk. An icebreaker. A segue into her probing. “We’re supposed to get up to twenty inches of snow.”

“I hope not.”

She looked back at him. “We had a difficult time setting this up.”

We?He thought. That was her way of saying that he had been dodging her.

“I’ve had my hands full.”

“Of course. The death of your brother and Lena, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And so, you…” she glanced at her paperwork as if she hadn’t done it. “Have two children, sixteen and fourteen. A girl and a boy.”

“Mia and Ethan.”

“They’re staying with you.”

He took a deep breath.

“Sorry. I’m jumping ahead.”

“That’s fine,” he murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here. But, Savannah thought it was best.”

Dr. Newbury’s gaze softened, her eyes conveying empathy. She nodded.

“It’s okay not to feel fine. You do know that?”

He shrugged. “Of course. I don’t live in a bubble. Look, uh.... can we skip to the part where you tell me what I need to do, and I go do it?”

She chuckled. “That requires me to understand what you need to do, if anything.”

“Then why am I here?”

“To talk. To get out what you feel in a safe place.”

Noah screwed up his face. “Please. Don’t take this wrong, but I could record my voice and play it back if I wanted to hear myself talk. I mean, that’s what you do, mirror the way I’m sitting, mirror the way I speak, kind of like interrogation techniques that we’re trained in. Lulling people into a false sense of security with a nice drink and warm muffin until we slap cuffs on them and tell them the party is over.”

“Is that something you want to talk about?”

“Geesh. You’re doing it now.”

She closed her folder and set it down by her leg. “Noah. If you don’t want to be here — that’s perfectly fine. Often clients don’t. Most people who need to talk don’t think they do until they get a chance to. But, look, I’m getting paid either way. If you go or stay, it’s covered by the state.”