Chase arched an eyebrow and said nothing.

“Do you mind if I come inside?” the woman asked.

Chase didn’t move backward. Instead she studied the woman in front of her. Glossy brown hair likely flat ironed within an inch of its life, oval face, light-handed makeup, compact body created in a gym, tasteful clothes, and small earrings winking between the layered strands around her face. She wore glasses that made her look smart.

Total therapist.

Chase crossed her arms. “I don’t think so.”

The woman tilted her head about five degrees, so slight, so knowing. An imperceptible lift of the corner of her lips made Chase frown. Amused, was she?

“I’m Olivia Han.”

She said her name like it should mean something.

“And . . . ?”

Irritation flitted over Olivia Han’s face. “The facility will be releasing you today, and I’m here—”

“I thought I had another month,” Chase interrupted, a myriad of emotions flooding her. Elation at the thought of leaving, but maybe a tinge of apprehension at the world beyond the door. Deep down, she knew her sobriety was eggshell thin, liable to spider crack under the slightest pressure. But she needed out so she could get insured and get back to work. As much as she resented her mother and the thought of being manipulated into a role, she knew it was her best shot to reenter credible acting. And she was good at pretending to be someone else, so she might as well make bank off the skill.

“We’ll be completing your sobriety treatment at a private location,” the woman said, stepping closer to Chase.

Her closeness made Chase step back, surrendering her defensive position. Olivia stepped inside and eyed the sterile room with a curious once-over. Some patients made their rooms cozy with a plant or even a few pictures. Lorna had brought a quilt from her house and folded it at the foot of Chase’s bed, her only concession to giving Chase any comfort. Chase hadn’t bothered with anything more. When flowers arrived from her so-called friends, she set them back outside the door. Someone must have taken them, because within hours the elaborate bouquets were gone.

“You said ‘we.’ Why would I go anywhere with you? I don’t know you,” Chase said, her hand still on the doorknob. She wanted this woman to leave. Getting out of here sounded great, but something felt wrong about this. Like an outta-the-frying-pan sort of thing.

“You’re right. You don’t know me.” Olivia turned around and studied her.

Chase ran a hand through her hair before she could stop herself. “Okay, enough of this cryptic bullshit. Tell me what you really want.”

“That’s an odd choice of words. You think I want something from you.” Olivia sank onto the edge of the armchair under the window where the little bird had perched. She folded her legs beneath her, relaxing her posture into one Chase was familiar with. Nonthreatening. Therapists liked that pose. They thought it made them approachable. Chase thought of it as a trick. She hated how designed everything was for shrinks. They said the same shit, tried the same techniques. So laughable.