My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

Lena Brooks.

I spent the first session telling her that I did not need counseling, only my daughter.

“You do need your daughter,” she said.

“And you may also need a place where you don’t have to convince anyone of anything.”

I stared at the carpet.

That sounded impossible.

Every conversation since the fall had felt like testimony.

So she asked about my sleep.