Three Months Later
The therapist's office was warm, decorated in soft earth tones that were probably meant to be calming.
Victor sat in the armchair across from Dr. Castellano, hands folded in his lap, and tried to find words for feelings he'd spent years burying.
"Tell me about the nightmares," Dr. Castellano said gently.
She was older, gray-haired, with kind eyes that had seen too much trauma to be shocked by anything.
"They're... less frequent," Victor admitted. "I used to wake up every night thinking I was still in the cellar. But now—" He paused. "Now it's only a few times a week."
"That's progress."
"Is it?" Victor's voice held doubt. "I'm still afraid. Every time a door closes, every time I hear footsteps—"
"Trauma doesn't heal in a straight line," Dr. Castellano interrupted softly. "You lived in fear for twenty-one years. Three months of safety doesn't erase that. But it's a start."
Victor looked at his hands.
