Page 1 of With All My Heart, Joy

Chapter One

The cobweb was still there.

Joy slumped her head against the pillow as she stared at the white ceiling overhead. She meant to reach with the broom yesterday and snag the stringy webbing so she could hang a strand of lights in its place. She meant to do a lot of things yesterday.

Story of her life.

Before the thought gained traction and pulled her into a dark tunnel she would never volunteer to travel, she slid one foot from under the covers. There. It was on the floor. Now the other. And…stand.

She was out of bed. It felt like a larger accomplishment than it should.

A shiver scurried across her skin as she padded through her small apartment, the kitchen her end goal. Most people couldn’t be considered human until they had coffee. For Joy Halverson, it was OJ. Give her a tall glass of orange juice, and she could take on anything.

At least, that’s what she told her viewers.

As she downed her favorite beverage, her eyes jumped around the common areas of her abode. She had moved in three days ago, and it still felt foreign and strange. The interior was a mess. Only two areas were set up so far—the corner of the living room she had turned into her recording space and the opposite corner that now contained her fully decorated Christmas tree.

Her tree had used up the better part of yesterday, and now she was behind by a million tasks. Social media didn’t wait for anyone. If you were too slow, someone else stole the spotlight and you had to double-time to get eyes back on you.

“Ready, set, go,” she murmured before a yawn stole her breath. Life wassoexhausting. And today was the day she tackled that exhaustion head-on. Because it wasn’t any old exhaustion. It was an exhaustion named depression.

Her hands turned clammy. Nope. She wouldn’t get worked up about today’s counseling appointment. Not yet. Too much to do. She could panic at twelve o’clock. Until then, it was time to work. Starting with a makeup tutorial. She needed to do her face, anyway. This way she’d be ahead on content for tomorrow. How wasthatfor a productive start to her day?

Four busy hours later, Joy rubbed her thumb up and down the short side of a business card, her eyes glued to bold words glaring up at her.

Isaac Miller, Ph.D. Counseling Psychology.

These were the credentials for the man she was supposed to pour her heart out to in a few minutes. He had a doctorate. She hadn’t known that. Counselors didn’tneeddoctoral degrees. Why did Isaac Miller have to have one? He seemed so down to earth when she briefly met him two weeks ago. Down-to-earth and Ph.D. were not synonyms.

Why was she here again?

Her brown Eddie Bauer boots tapped a fast, erratic rhythm in time with her galloping heart as she glanced around the lobby of Living Hope Counseling.

A short, rotund elderly man was snoring from his seat in the corner. A mid-forties woman flipped through a lifestyle magazine. A college-age guy scrolled through his phone, one ankle tossed upon his opposite knee in an unconcerned position. None of these people appeared to be suffering from the heart palpitations that were about to make Joy place an emergency call to her cardiologist father.

Coming here was a mistake.

A mistake.

Struggling to breathe, she launched to her feet, the business card she’d snatched from the receptionist’s desk when she checked in ten minutes ago going airborne. She bent to grab it and was two steps from the front door.

“Joy?” An emphatic male voice froze her feet to the floor, and she snaked her head around. Her desperate flight had been too slow, and he’d caught her in the act.

Isaac Miller stood in an open doorway, his face a mix of amusement and empathy. “Come on back.”

Her throat too dry to swallow, Joy changed directions, letting her feet take her ever nearer the chasm that lay behind the door where the counselor waited. A chair’s-width away, she halted. Dr. Miller extended a hand for the clipboard tucked against her side, secured by her arm. As she passed it over, he offered an encouraging smile and indicated she could go through the door first.

“It will be okay, Joy. I promise.”

There was something about his voice. She wouldn’t call it soft. Not even gentle. But whatever it was, it worked like a tranquilizer, and she took the step through the door without hesitation.

“Thank you for fitting me in today.” Hope and confidence filled her voice, a far cry from reality. Either she’d gotten that good at masking her feelings, or this man had special powers over her personality.

“Not a problem.” He slowed his pace beside her in the short hallway and opened a door to the left. “This is my office. Make yourself comfortable.”

Inside the room, a loveseat and two armchairs were arranged in a loose circle. A wooden desk sat beneath a window in the far wall. A few large paintings decorated the wall, and a pleasant, pungent scent lingered in the air. Something fruity mixed with spices. Her eyes hunted for the source and landed on the essential oil diffuser perched on a corner of the desk. Although not stark, the office was on the plain side. It seemed fitting.

Joy selected one of the armchairs and eased down, her back straight.

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