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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
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  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

We’d visited Trevor’s parents over the years, but our visits lasted no more than a few hours and we took the same door-to-door route. We never strayed from our route, never stopped at a grocery store to pick up a forgotten ingredient, never stopped for ice-cream cones at the general store before we drove back to Chicago, never stopped at a park or scenic lookout. Trevor knew I wasn’t a fan of this place.

I opened the back door, and warm air seeped in. A faint low rumble simmered in the distance. Sounded like a train.

Trevor hustled into the room, carrying two boxes and holding the top one steady with his chin. As he set them down in the middle of the kitchen, Emily’s hand slipped from mine, and she wandered away.

“Are there train tracks nearby?” I said.

“I don’t think so,” he said, gazing at the backyard, blissful. “Hey, you want to pick up pizza for dinner?”

“Pizza sounds good.” My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out of my pocket, read the message, then deleted it.

“Who’s that?”

“Just a friend from work,” I lied.

“They miss you already?” he said, smiling. Damn handsome.

I smiled back. “I’ll probably—”

Something crashed in the parlor room. I rushed toward the sound of Emily crying, already knowing. The vase.

Broken shards on the floor. Emily stood in the middle of the mess, crying. It hadn’t taken her a week. Only fifteen minutes.

My reflex was to yell, but I squashed it. Trevor moved in and scooped her up. “It’s OK, kiddo. Anything hurt?” She shook her head, no longer crying.

He kissed her on the forehead and looked at me. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Remember that pool I was telling you about? It’s supposed to be really nice. Why don’t you two go dig up your suits and check it out. Sawyer and I can unpack.”

I gave him a sincere smile. He was good to me. “Great idea. What do you think, Em?” I said, thinking our pool expedition might be an opportunity to hunt for information.

“At the first International meeting in Chicago, I listened to other doctors describe these cases. I remember thinking the cases were idiosyncratic and incredibly rare. It wasn’t too long after that I found my own patient.”

Doctor Clifford Paulson, PhD Psychology
Transcripts from the Sixth Annual Conference on
Adult Manifestations of Childhood Trauma

THE RADISSON PLAZA HOTEL, CINCINNATI, OHIO

3

3

The concrete edge of the pool snagged the ass of my swimsuit. It was two or three wears away from the garbage anyway, thinning to see-through. In the dim dressing room minutes ago, I had aimed my ass at the mirror and strained my neck over my shoulder. Could I see my butt crack? Faintly, yes.