The Smell of a Hard Shift
I work with people who carry severe trauma from their jobs.
Your wife is having a dissociative panic attack right now.” The floor seemed to dissolve under me. Niamh. N was not a man.
N was her doctor. We go deeper tomorrow was not an innuendo.
It was the language of therapy.
“Bethany?” I whispered, and my knees finally went; I sank down onto the carpet a few feet from them.
Chapter 16 — Shame
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