I lay my head on the pillow and look around; my eyes scrape past the recorder. The room is pale blue, kind of a soothing robin’s egg hue. The ceiling is high and every time I look up, I make a mental note to get a broom and stepladder, so I can swipe away the cobwebs. On my dresser there are two pictures of my brother, one taken at our aunt’s place in Idaho. Another when he graduated from high school. On the back is a note that was meant to wound me.

Rylee, I’m graduating today. You are not here (as always). My foster parents are nice people, but they don’t replace my family. Thanks for taking all of that away from me.

Hayden

I don’t even have to pop the photograph from the frame to read it anymore. I’ve memorized every single word of it.

He hates me.

I don’t doubt that I deserve it.

And still I check my email twice a day to see if he’s written back.

On the wall next to the door with its vintage crystal knob is a painting of a sailboat. It came with the place. Sometimes I imagine myself on that boat, sailing away, never to return.

I press Play and I turn off the light next to my bed. I lie there, like a child listening to a scary story. My story.

Dr. Albright starts things off with a reminder that she is on this journey with me. That I’m strong and that I’m on a pathway to healing. I remember wanting to believe her so much, but also thinking it was complete bullshit. That I’d never be fully healed. She tells me to close my eyes and bring her with me. Hearing her voice so full of concern makes me think of the Wheaton kids and how alone they must be feeling. How huge their tragedy is and how it will forever be etched on their minds. How I hope they will find someone like Karen Albright to help them move through life.