“That’s my hope.”

“All of this is exciting. Do you have any concerns that you want to discuss?”

There’s really just one. “I’m worried that my head and might . . . go . . . this!” I yell, frustrated because I couldn’t speak again.

“And that’s valid, but you can’t control how your brain is healing. All you can do is be patient and work through the situations as they arise. Like you’re doing right now.”

I can’t control my own mouth. “Why won’t this stop?”

“Because, while you feel a month is a long time, it’s not. Thirty days is a short blip, and you are not only working through new physical limitations but also an emotional trauma.” Her eyes drop to the notebook on my lap.

I rub my fingers against the paper, feeling the anxiety coursing through me. A part of me wants to read it, to remember it in a different way. But this was all feeling. This isn’t me just telling my story about the crash in a detached way—this is me at my rawest and most vulnerable.

“I’m scared.”

“You’re not alone. You’re not in that plane. You’re on the ground, safe, and alive,” she tells me. “One step at a time.”

“One page at a time.”

She doesn’t move, and I lift the cover, wanting to be brave. Wishing that for just a few minutes I can be the Jessica I was before the crash. The one who was strong, fearless, and ready to handle any situation. This version—the scared girl who wants to hide—isn’t who I want to be.

I can feel the tremors moving through my body, but I use all my effort to focus on the words. I read, doing everything to just say the words without actually hearing them or taking them in. They’re my memories, the dreams that haunt me each night, but I won’t allow them to hurt me.

The words fall from me as I flip pages with shaky hands. I continue speaking, knowing that if I stop, I won’t be able to go again. At some point, there is nothing left on the paper to read.

After a minute, Dr. Warvel reaches out, her hand grasping mine. “Jessica, I need you to look at me.”

I feel cold and numb as tears fall down my face. When my eyes lift to hers, I can barely make out her features, and I turn away. Shame, anger, and frustration at the weakness I feel is too much. I should be over this, Jacob is. He’s happy and enjoying his time with Brenna. Elliot just moved in with his girlfriend, and Jose reconciled with his wife. I’m the only one who is falling apart. Why can they all find a way through this but I’m . . . stuck?

“I can’t,” I confess. I can’t . . . to it all.