Page 47 of Falling For Us Again

“Take your time,” Marcy says, her tone warm and understanding. “We can move on to the next room if you’re not ready.”

“No, you can go in. I’ll just wait out here.”

They exchange a glance before nodding. Ken opens the door, and I take a step back, my heart hammering in my chest.

Marcy and Ken talk in hushed tones as they scan the room, but I can't make out what they’re saying them from where I am standing. I wonder if they are aware of my family’s story, but if they are, they do a great job of not letting it show.

The room seems to call to me, demanding my attention. My mother’s voice echoes in my mind, soft but insistent, the way it used to be when she was scolding me for leaving my shoes in the hallway or for forgetting to water the plants.

I feel dizzy suddenly, my head spinning with a memory that rushes at me out of nowhere, sharp and vivid.

We’re in a car. My mother grips my hands firmly; her eyes are wild with panic as they dart between me and the rearview mirror. She keeps glancing back as if we’re being chased.

“Everything will be okay, Jenna,” she says, though her voice trembles.

Sweat beads trail down my back, and I nod. I open my mouth to say something, but before I can speak, the memory dissolves as abruptly as it came.

In the next second, I’m hyperventilating. The walls seem to close in; the light in the hallway is suddenly blinding. The air turns thick and oppressive. My chest tightens, and panic explodes in my veins.

“Mom!” I scream, my voice cracking as my eyes dart around frantically searching the hallway. “Mom!”

I press a hand to my chest, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me. My breath comes in uneven, shallow gasps. The world tilts, and my vision blurs.

“Mom, where are you?” Tears spill out of my eyes now.

“Ms. Goldberg? Jenna?” Marcy’s voice cuts through the haze, and I feel a hand on my arm, steadying me.

I blink, disoriented, as I realize both Marcy and Ken are now standing beside me, concern etched across their faces.

“My mom… she was.” My voice cracks as my sobs rack through my body.

They help me to the living room, Marcy hands me a glass of water, and they give me a moment to compose myself. These flashbacks keep happening with faster frequency, and I’m at a loss to explain what they mean.

After a few minutes, the tears subside, and I blow my nose into a napkin.

I glance as Marcy and Ken come back. They stand by the doorway, giving me space but watching me closely. They’re professionals, used to dealing with distressed clients, but this feels different. I feel exposed like they’ve seen a part of me I wasn’t ready to reveal.

“Ms. Goldberg,” Marcy says softly.

"I'm—I'm fine," I say, though the words come out strangled and weak.

"Do you need us to call somebody for you?" Ken asks, his tone showing concern.

Embarrassment floods me, and I shake my head. I can’t believe I let this happen in front of them. Screaming for my dead mother and bawling my eyes out in front of strangers like a little girl. I’m supposed to hold it together. Instead, I’m falling apart, just like this house.

"I’m ok," I insist, forcing a tight smile.

They exchange glances again, but they don’t push. I force myself to stand, smoothing my hands over my skirt to steady them.

"I’m ready to continue," I say, weakly.

“Perhaps we should come back another day? We still have a few more rooms to go through.”

“I agree,” Ken says briskly.

My embarrassment deepens, and I dig my fingers into my hands. I clear my throat and nod.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll let you know when.”

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