Page 50 of Twisted Trails
I can’t breathe.
I can’tbreathe.
I barely make it to the trash can before I’m heaving, but nothing but bile and breathless panic comes out.
Élise is there in an instant, her hand on my back, stroking gently. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry. That was probably too much.”
“No.” I gasp between breaths. “No. Don’t be sorry. It’s not you.”
Because it’s not. Not really.
It’s everything.
It’sme.
She pauses, then says, carefully, “Dane told us about your plan, Alaina. That’s why I wanted to talk.”
I keep my arms braced on the counter as my knees wobble under me.
She waits for me to process a few moments longer before asking, “Feeling a little better?”
Pushing up from the counter, I breathe through the sudden onslaught and nod.
Physically, yeah. Emotionally? Still shredded to bits I’m not sure will ever fit together again.
She hands me a cloth to wipe off and a lozenge from a little ceramic jar on the shelf. It’s cherry flavored. I pop it into my mouth, shocked by the sweetness.
It reminds me of Finn, and I can almost feel his fingertips on my lips before I shove the thought away.
Ifeel fragile and off-center as we sit back on the couch. My body is still here, but my head is somewhere ten years ago and ten miles away.
“After he was gone, I struggled,” Élise continues her story, like I did not just fall apart over her kitchen counter. “Badly. I still do sometimes. It’s been hard every day for the last eleven years since that morning. I fell into this black hole of grief and depression so deep, I didn’t think I’d ever climb out. For a while, I couldn’t even care for Luc. Not properly. I had to lean on my family to help. If it weren’t for them, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
She’s not crying, and her voice is steady, but it’s not the kind of strength that hides the hurt, it’s the kind that comes from surviving it.
“They convinced me to go to therapy,” she says. “And I’ve been on antidepressants ever since. I’ll be honest with you, Alaina. They saved my life.”
I blink, then run my gaze over this put-together woman. “You’re on meds?”
She smiles, not at all offended by my question. “Yes. And it’s the best decision I ever made. It doesn’t make everything magically okay, but it makes the hard days feel manageable. The dark less dark. It helps me hold onto the good.”
I don’t even realize I’ve straightened my spine until the cushion creaks beneath me. “I’ve thought about it,” I say quietly. “But it’s like… it wouldn’t make the pain go away, at least not the physical one. And I’ve lived with this so long, what if it changes me?”
“That’s the thing. Depression numbs everything. Not just the pain, but the joy too. The laughter. The hope. The love. You’ve been walking through life with everything turned down, trying not to feel too much in either direction because the bad is too heavy. But the medication, the therapy,it doesn’t erase who you are. It gives youaccessback to the full range. It lets youwantthings again.”
She presses a hand over mine.
“You’ve already lived through days that tried to end you,” she says softly. “And you’re still here. That matters, Alaina. You matter.”
I let out a slow, shaking breath, everything in me wanting to deny those words. “It doesn’t feel like enough. Not most days.”
“That’s okay. Feeling it is the start. You don’t have to believe in the finish line yet, just that there’s still somewhere to walk toward.”
I stare at her, at this woman who held me like a mother, talked to me like a friend, and has seen more pain than I ever guessed, and I feel a little less alone.
“I called my therapist while Mr. Crews was with you.” Élise holds my watery gaze. “And I asked her for an in-person session. She’s amazing, and she agreed to make time for us later this afternoon if you’ll come. With me.”
I don’t answer right away. I don’t knowhowto. My throat tightens at the thought of being as candid with a stranger as Élise just was with me.
