The morning after I met Judah was the first one in years that I seriously debated calling Dr. Willoughby. She’d given me a standing invite when I was twenty and announced I was moving into the city to be closer to work, but not once had I ever taken her up on it. It felt like I’d be admitting defeat, that I really had broken into too many pieces that night Dixon died and I was never going to be whole again.
But after spotting his reflection two different times? Oh, hell, yeah, I thought about it. She’d been the only one who refused to let me hide and wallow in my grief. It stood to reason she could hear my story, call it bullshit or exhaustion or something completely mundane, and then send me packing back to my normal life without feeling like I was losing my f*****g mind.
I got as far a
