The business card had been sitting on her dresser like a lifeline. Plus, it seemed the safest and least judgmental. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and unfortunately, Deven really wasn’t in a position to turn down assistance. She just didn’t expect that assistance to come only two hours later. Even over the phone, as last minute as it was, Dr. Felicia Bradshaw detected the emergency and insisted on a same day appointment. But it was clear she was good at her job. And Deven didn’t know if she appreciated or despised that attentiveness.

The office building sat on a private lot in the heart of downtown. It was discreet, that’s for sure, because as much as Deven had come downtown for one reason or another, she had assumed the building was a residential home. Just one level, it had a wheelchair ramp alongside a small staircase leading up a large door with Dr. Felicia Bradshaw on the glass, and two bay windows with decals: one was a quote by Brené Brown that read, Let go of who you think you’re supposed to be; embrace who you are. On the other window was a quote from Robert Frost, The best way out is always through. The affirmations were comforting.

Though she was early, Deven figured it was best to go ahead inside. Any longer, and she was afraid she would talk herself out of it. So, she turned off her phone and walked up the pavement with the assurance she didn’t feel.

The waiting room was intimate with a bench and four chairs, plus a corner table with chips and granola bars neatly fanned in labeled baskets. Underneath the table was a minifridge with a clear door to display the rows of water. There were two closed doors, one with a restroom sign across the wood, and an arrangement of more inspirational quotes inscribed on canvases decorating the pastel walls.

Deven wasn’t sure if she was supposed to take a snack and have a seat, knock on the door, or call to relay she had arrived early. As if on cue, the door slid open and a petite, brown-skinned woman with glasses and a bun stepped into the lobby. She looked entirely too young to be a therapist. Probably her daughter or assistant, Deven assumed with a polite smile.

The woman extended her hand for a shake. “Good afternoon,” she greeted. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“Yes. I appreciate Dr. Bradshaw being able to squeeze me in on such short notice.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all.” Her grip was surprisingly firm for a woman of her small stature. “And please call me Felicia.” Deven’s eyes widened, which prompted Felicia’s knowing chuckle. “I get that reaction a lot,” she continued. “And before you ask, I am thirty-two, I have my doctorate, and I’ve had my own practice for over three years.”