Working in law enforcement, Becca was well versed in what to do in the event of a burglary or kidnapping.

Stay put.

Call the police.

Remain calm.

Do not confront the intruders.

Unfortunately, rules didn’t take into account love and maternal instincts. Becca headed back down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time, pausing at the bottom landing, her breathing ragged. Where was Ash? Did someone take her? Were they still in the house? Becca’s thoughts drifted to the old service revolver her ex-husband left behind, remembered with regret how she stored it away in a lockbox on a shelf in the garage. A lot of good that would do her now.

Breathe. Just breathe. Becca always told her clients that when panic set in. She rounded the corner and saw Ash, illuminated by moonlight, down on her hands and knees, frantically sweeping up the remnants of one of Becca’s flowerpots. Freud sat on his hind legs near Ash, eyeing her warily. As much as she loved Freud, he really was a worthless guard dog. “Ash? Are you okay?”

Ash let out a startled gasp. “Jesus, Becca, you scared me.”

Becca let out a shaky laugh. “The feeling is mutual. I thought someone was breaking in. I was this close to calling the cops.”

“Okay, talk about overreacting. I took Freud for a walk and accidentally knocked over the pot… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Becca studied Ash, searching for signs she was lying. “Here, let me help,” Becca said, bending down to gather up the larger pieces of glass, hoping to get a better look at Ash. She scanned the young girl’s face, searching for the thin sheen of sweat beading on her upper lip, the bloodshot eyes, and unfocused gaze, all the telltale signs of a relapse. Instead she saw Ash’s cheeks, a little flushed from the cold, and her eyes bright and clear. She sagged a bit with relief. “You sure everything’s okay?” Becca asked.

“I thought you were off the clock,” Ash said pointedly.

For years Becca’s family insisted she stop therapizing them, which was easier said than done. Being a therapist wasn’t something she could shut off, an inescapable occupational hazard. Today had been hard. She was still reeling from the loss at work, the man’s tortured expression right before he leapt off the freeway to his death etched on her brain. Was she projecting, looking for a problem where there wasn’t one? Becca knew Ash used before she took her in, but things got worse before they got better. Once Ash had a safe place to stay, it seemed she was constantly pushing boundaries, ditching school to score drugs, stealing pills from Becca’s medicine cabinet. They’d worked hard to reach this point. Once again, Becca took in Ash’s bright eyes and clear speech, and her heart rate slowed. This was nothing more than an accident. Accidents happen. Ash was fine.

Becca intercepted the broom and dustpan and finished cleanup duty. “We should get back to bed. We both have an early day tomorrow.”