Page 90 of Beneath the Surface

“Belle,” Brad whispered softly, his voice cracking. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Please, come back to me.”

The door opened quietly, and Jesse Gentry stepped inside. Tall and composed, Jesse carried his usual air of calm authority, but today his usual confidence was tempered withhis compassion as a psychologist for the Blackwell Institute for Trauma. “Hey, Brad. How is she doing?”

Brad looked up, his face etched with despair. “Jesse,” he said, his voice heavy. “I don’t know what to do. She’s here, but she’s not…here.It’s like she’s locked away, and I can’t reach her.”

Jesse pulled up a chair beside him, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned in slightly. “I’ve seen this before,” he said gently. “Trauma like hers—it’s not just physical. It’s emotional, psychological. Sometimes, the mind shuts down as a way to protect itself.” He sighed. “Hi, Isobel. I’m Jesse. I came to check on you.” Her eyelids didn’t even flutter.

Brad swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Isobel’s still form. “How do I help her? What if she doesn’t come back?”

“She will,” Jesse said firmly. “But it’s going to take time. And you need to be part of the process. Right now, she’s in survival mode—she’s retreating because it’s safer than facing the pain. What we have to do is remind her that she’s safe now.”

“How?” Brad asked, his voice raw. “What do I say? What do I do?”

Jesse leaned back slightly. “It’s not just about what you say. It’s how you say it. How you connect with her. You need to ground her in the present—help her remember who she is, who you are, and what she has to come back to. Here’s what I want you to try…”

Jesse placed a small box on the bedside table. Inside were several items: a soft scarf, a stress ball, and a small vial of lavender oil. “Start with touch and smell,” he explained. “These can help bring her back into her body. Gently guide her through the sensations—tell her what she’s feeling.”

Brad nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up the scarf. Sitting beside Isobel, he placed the fabric lightly against her hand. “Belle,” he said softly. “This is a scarf. It’s soft.Feel how warm it is? It’s like when you used to wrap up on the couch with me on those cold nights.”

He paused, watching her closely. Her eyes opened, and her fingers twitched slightly, a small but meaningful response.

Encouraged, Brad opened the vial of lavender oil, dabbing a tiny bit on a tissue and holding it near her nose. “This is lavender,” he said. “You always said it helped you sleep better. Do you remember that?”

Her lips parted slightly, and for the first time, Brad thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“Talk to her about your life together,” Jesse said. “Remind her of happy memories—things that connect her to you and the world outside this room.”

Brad took her hand, holding it gently between his. “Do you remember the first time we went hiking?” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “It was me and your sisters. I felt like I was herding cats. You were so mad at me because I didn’t tell you the trail was uphill the whole way. You threatened to turn around, but then we reached the top, and you just stood there, looking out over the valley. You said it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.”

His voice softened. “But it wasn’t.Youwere. You were standing there, the wind in your hair, looking like you belonged to the sky.”

A single tear slid down her cheek, and Brad’s chest tightened. “That’s it, Belle,” he whispered. “I know you’re in there.”

Jesse suggested playing music, something personal and meaningful to Isobel. Brad scrolled through his phone, finally landing on a playlist she’d once made for him. Soft acoustic guitar filled the room, the familiar chords wrapping them both in its gentle embrace.

“This is your favorite song,” Brad said, his voice thick with emotion. “You played it for me the night we danced in thekitchen. Remember? I stepped on your toes at least three times, but you laughed and made me keep going.”

He reached for her hand again, squeezing it gently. Her fingers curled weakly around his, a fragile connection, but a connection, nonetheless.

Days passed,and Brad repeated the interventions, his determination unwavering. Slowly, small changes began to emerge—her gaze grew steadier, her responses more intentional. And then, on the thirteenth day, as he sat beside her humming softly to the music playing in the background, Isobel’s eyes fluttered open.

“Brad,” she whispered, her voice faint but clear.

His heart leapt, and tears filled his eyes as he leaned closer. “I’m here, Belle. I’m right here.”

Her gaze locked on his, and for the first time, there was recognition—true recognition—in her eyes. “You… didn’t leave me.”

“Never,” Brad choked out. “Not for a second.”

Her lips trembled, and a faint smile broke through the exhaustion and pain etched into her face. “I knew you’d come.”

Brad pressed a kiss to her hand, his tears falling freely now. “I’ll always come for you,” he said fiercely. “Always.”

For the first time since the nightmare began, hope filled the room. Isobel was coming back. And Brad would be there every step of the way.

Epilogue

Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in a quiet calm as Brad carefully helped Isobel into their home. The chill in the air was bracing, but his heart was warm, filled with cautious hope as he unlocked the door and stepped inside with her. He moved to start a fire in the hearth.

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