She shut off the car and we climbed out. I reached over and took her hand, stopping her on the bottom step. I had some things I needed to say before we reached the door.

“I’m sorry,” we said at the same time. I shook my head at her and she pursed her lips.

“What are you apologizing for?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It’s my default setting. I’m working on it. Also, I felt that I was perhaps a bit harsh the last time we spoke.”

“No, you weren’t. You just said what I needed to hear. I’m the one who has to apologize,” I said. “I was so wrong. Wrong to walk away, wrong to shut you and everyone else out. I can’t believe I let my pride and my fear of intimacy cause me to lose the people I care about most in the world.”

Her brown eyes got wide and then turned soft as if she was hoping this was going to go her way but she wasn’t sure yet.

“You were right to demand that I be there tonight, that I stand up for my sister,” I said.

“And you did,” she cut in. “Spectacularly.”

“I would never have done it without you,” I said. “Thank you.”

She hugged me then. A tight squeeze around my neck that gave me more hope that perhaps all was not lost.

“There’s more. I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist,” I said. I figured I’d better double down while I had her in a good place. She stepped back and looked at me in surprise.

“I spent months railing against anyone who told me that I had suffered a trauma and that I was having a psychological reaction to it,” I explained. “In my narrow-minded view, I wrote that off as being weak and convinced myself my problems had to be physical in nature. They’re not. And I’m not. Suffering from anxiety, depression, and panic attacks isn’t weak, and it isn’t any different than suffering from heart disease or diabetes. These things just exist, and they have to be dealt with.”

She smiled at me and it was everything. I had to look away for a second to stay focused.

“So Dr. Franks and I are figuring out my issues with my panic and how it manifests in my body with a racing heart and my leg going numb. Turns out Dr. Henry was right, there isn’t anything wrong with me physically, but my brain just doesn’t want to believe it.”

“Nick, that’s wonderful,” she said.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “I have a lot of work to do. I’m on an antidepressant, and I’ve committed to counseling. I’m going to have to reprogram myself, and I might not always be easy to be around.”