Page 34 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

“Why not?”

“Because of the outburst you had with your brother, Dr. Amberg wants your visits monitored.”

I roll my eyes, but who really cares because I’m getting out of here. “Whatever.”

The moment he opens the door, my dad stands, and I can’t run into his arms fast enough.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes the word the instant I’m safe within his hold.

Nestling my head against his chest, I feel like I just might burst with relief. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Taking my face in his hands, he angles me up to him. “I’ve missed you, baby girl.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Come sit with me.”

We settle on the couch, and he takes my hand in his. My smile feels obnoxiously big.

“How are you doing?”

“Better now that you’re here and I can finally go home.”

There’s a subtle shift in his grip, and a slight cinch appears between his brows.

“Harlow—”

“You came to get me, right?”

His eyes drop away from mine, instantly snuffing all the joy I just held.

“Dad?”

Lifting his head, he says gently, “Why don’t we talk?”

“Talk about what? This is a mistake,” I tell him as bubbles of anxiety start popping inside me. “I don’t need to be here.”

“Your mother thinks otherwise.”

I pull my hand out of his. “She’s lying.”

“I saw the notebook.”

“It’s just a notebook.” My voice pitches, and Marcus takes a step away from the wall he’d been leaning against. Calming my tone, I explain, “Dr. Amberg suggested I keep it as a tool to get my thoughts out. That’s all. Mom is just overreacting.”

There’s a slight shake of his head when he gives an uncertain, “I don’t know.” He takes my hand again. “Seeing everything that was in it scared me.”

“Dad—”

“Look, I’m not home enough. I don’t get to see you as often as your mother, so I have to rely on what she says. And if she says that she’s concerned for your wellbeing, then I have to listen.”

“I’m fine,” I stress.

“Your doctor feels differently. He told me about your erratic behavior and that they had to sedate you. That doesn’t sound like a girl who is fine.”

“No, you have it all wrong,” I tell him as panic blooms.

“He says you’ve been shut down for weeks and refuse to cooperate in the daily therapy sessions.”

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