Page 83 of Cowboy
I walk her through the days since our last session—the nightmare I had on Tuesday night, how Ciarán helped me through it without panic setting in; Saoirse's art project for school and how proud she was to show it off; my almost-complete application to Trinity.
"And you're still feeling confident about going to university?" she asks.
I nod. "Nervous but excited. It feels right. Like I'm reclaiming another piece of myself."
"That's excellent," Dr. Mitchell says warmly. "And how are things with Ciarán?"
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "Amazing. He's... he understands me in a way I didn't think was possible. He never pushes, but he doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass either."
"And intimacy? That was something you were concerned about when we last spoke."
A flush heats my cheeks, but I answer honestly. "It's good. Really good. I still have moments where I freeze up, but they're getting less frequent. Ciarán always knows when to slow down, when to stop completely."
Dr. Mitchell nods approvingly. "It sounds like you're building a healthy relationship founded on mutual respect and clear communication. That's not easy under any circumstances, let alone after the trauma you've experienced."
"We've both worked hard at it," I acknowledge. "And we keep working at it every day."
"And what about your concerns regarding Saoirse's legal status? Have there been any developments there?"
My mood dampens slightly. Despite everything that's going right, this worry continues to gnaw at me. "No updates. The emergency guardianship is holding for now, but Travis says it's just a matter of time before there's a formal review."
"And how are you managing that anxiety?"
I take a deep breath, using the grounding technique she taught me. "One day at a time. I focus on giving Saoirse the stability and love she needs now, and try not to borrow trouble from the future."
"That's a very healthy approach," Dr. Mitchell says. "And remember, you have substantial support systems in place—Ciarán, Grá, the entire community that's rallied around you and Saoirse. That will count for a great deal in any custody evaluation."
I nod, taking comfort in her words even as the fear persists. The thought of losing Saoirse is like a physical pain, sharp and immediate. In the months since our rescue, she's become my child in every way that matters. The one good thing to come from that nightmare.
The rest of the session passes quickly. Dr. Mitchell suggests moving to bi-weekly appointments, with the option to schedule emergency sessions if needed. It's another milestone on this journey toward healing, toward a new normal.
As I drive home, I find myself reflecting on how far I've come. Six months ago, I was a prisoner, my body and will not my own. Three months ago, I was free but shattered, plagued by nightmares and panic attacks. Now, I'm applying to university, raising a child, building a life with a man I love more than I thought possible.
Not healed—I may never be fully healed—but whole. Scarred but stronger at the broken places.
When I pull into the driveway, I notice Ciarán's bike is already back. He must have finished his club business earlier than expected. Inside, the house is quiet.
"Hello?" I call, setting down my bag.
"Out back," Ciarán's voice replies.
I make my way through the house to the back garden, a modest space we've been slowly transforming together. Saoirse helped plant flowers along the fence last weekend, and Ciarán built a small swing set that gets daily use.
I find them both there—Ciarán standing by the patio table, which is set for lunch, and Saoirse sitting on the swing, kicking her legs with barely contained excitement.
"What's all this?" I ask, taking in the scene. The table is set neatly, with a small vase of wildflowers in the center.
"Lunch," Ciarán says simply, but there's that look again—anticipation mixed with nervousness.
"Ciarán made sandwiches," Saoirse announces, jumping off the swing and running to me. "And lemonade!"
I laugh, lifting her for a quick hug. "Well, that sounds lovely."
We settle at the table, and I notice Saoirse can barely sit still, vibrating with some secret knowledge. She keeps looking at Ciarán, then at me, then biting her lip to contain whatever she's bursting to say.
"Alright, what's going on with you two?" I ask, eyeing them both suspiciously. "You're acting strange."
Ciarán clears his throat. "We have something for you." He reaches under the table and pulls out a large envelope, sliding it across to me. "Well, for all of us, really."
