“I’ve been seeing the school counselor,” she said. “Because I’ve been having panic attacks. About losing you. About messing everything up. About people leaving.”
I felt something inside my chest crack open.
“I made those videos to practice saying it out loud,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to think I was broken.”
I pulled her into my arms.
“You are not broken,” I said. “You’re human.”
Downstairs, Marisa was waiting, arms crossed.
“She needs serious help,” she said. “And I didn’t sign up to raise someone this damaged.”
That word.
