The hypnotherapist's office smelled faintly of lavender and freshly brewed tea.
Margaret noticed it the moment they arrived, along with the muted cream walls, the framed certificates arranged behind the desk, and the soft instrumental music playing somewhere out of sight. Everything about the place seemed deliberately designed to make a person feel safe.
She hoped it would.
Christy sat beside her, studying the room.
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Margaret reminded her.
Christy turned to look at her.
"I know."
"We can leave. We can try something else. There's no rush."
"I know that too, Margaret."
There was no irritation in her voice. Only a quiet weariness.
Christy looked down at her hands.
"I want to remember."
Margaret's throat tightened.
