She tried not to get attached. She failed completely. On the eighth day, Elena woke to raised voices downstairs. She pulled on a robe and crept to the top of the stairs. I don't want to go.
Mara's voice, angry, desperate. You have to. Mason sounded exhausted. It's not optional. Why?
So some therapist can pretend to care about my feelings for an hour. Dr. Martinez does care. She gets paid to care. That's different.
Mara, I'm not going. A door slammed. Silence. Elena found Mason in the kitchen, head in his hands. Sorry, he said without looking up.
Didn't mean to wake you. You didn't? Elena poured herself coffee. Is she okay? Define okay.
Mason rubbed his face. She's supposed to have therapy this afternoon. She's been refusing to go for 2 weeks. Why? Because the anniversary of Caroline's death is in 3 days and Mar is convinced that if she doesn't talk about it, she won't have to feel it.
Elena sat down across from him. That's not how grief works. I know that. You know that. Mar's 14 and thinks she can logic her way out of emotions.
Sounds familiar. Mason glanced up. Yeah. Elena shrugged. I spent 6 months after my accident convincing myself I was fine.
That infertility was just a medical fact, not something to grieve. That I could just move on. How'd that work out? Terribly. Elena wrapped her hands around her mug.
Turns out you can't logic away loss. Tell that to my daughter. Maybe I will. Mason's eyebrows rose. Seriously?
Why not? Worst case, she tells me to leave her alone. She might. Then I'll leave her alone. Elena stood.
Where is she? Her room. Third door on the left upstairs. Elena climbed the stairs slowly. She knocked on Mara's door.
Go away, Dad. Not your dad. Silence. Then come in. Elena opened the door.
Mara's room was exactly what you'd expect from a grieving 14-year-old. Dark walls, band posters, clothes everywhere, a desk covered in art supplies and half-finish sketches. Mara sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest. He sent you to convince me to go to therapy. Nope.
Elena leaned against the door frame. I came because I heard you yelling and wanted to make sure you're okay. I'm fine. You don't sound fine. Mara's jaw tightened.
What do you want me to say? That I'm sad? That I miss my mom? That therapy doesn't actually help because talking about her doesn't bring her back? No.