Fred stood up before the second tear ran down my face, he approached the bed and leaned over, kissing my forehead and cheeks. It didn't hurt either, but the affection with which he touched that region that should certainly be hurt and swollen, moved me to the point of crying even more. When I found myself, I was already getting up and hugging Fred tightly, afraid that it was really a very good dream."I'm sorry, Becca," he said, in a fragile voice, failed. I was crying, I noticed before the tears wet my shoulder, where he touched his head, "I'm sorry for taking so long.”"I also feel," I spoke sincerely.And nothing that anyone else had said would have made me feel better than him. Only Fred understood that it wasn't good that I was back. That it was no reason to celebrate that I could still have enough conditions to identify the people who hurt me. Because having mental conditions to identify, also made me able to remember and relive all that, for all the days that still came.Fred u

"Can you lie down here? “Rebecca asked, indicating the bed with one hand. “It’s cold today.”I got up, left the book in the armchair and approached the bed. It was too small. Even if I wasn't at my normal weight, Becca would be squeezed, and I had to choose the side where she didn't receive the serum to try to lie down. With a lot of cost and the audible creaking of the bed, I managed to drag myself to his side, covering us with the hospital blanket."Do you feel better now? “I asked softly.Rebecca made a gesture very similar to a shrug, but that sounded very discreetly."I think better is difficult. I feel good enough now. At least I’m warm and the cold terrifies me more than anything now.”My arm was on the side of her body, because I didn't want to put it in her belly and hurt her in any way. However, Rebecca moved until she stood in front of me, pulling the hose of her serum as much as possible. I was worried and mentioned speaking, but soon she fixed the medicine and remained in

"Cause even more paranoia in a patient with clear stress, is cruel," Fred, nervous. My mother turned to him, ready for the fight. For her bad luck, Fred was already more than without patience, and he wouldn't leave it cheap. "Becca was missing, we all looked for her, we all had the same answer for months. I didn't find her because I paid more, but by effort, alone. I don't need you to offend me in front of her, Sophie. Enough of this story. Becca needs care, silence and as little stress as possible. All you're doing is remembering where she was and who she was with. She can't go through this again.”"And you're the one who determines that? "My mother asked, moving away from bed. I felt my heart accelerate in a weird way, and discreetly, I pressed the button that called the nurse. "She's my daughter, Friederich. MY DAUGHTER, before it's anything of yours. And you deprived me of information and news for months. You were guilty and keep insisting on pushing me away. And the person who is

“Is the light good enough for you?”"Do you have the ideal temperature?”“Do you want me to fix the pillow?”“Do you need help?”“Do you feel hungry?”I couldn't take it anymore. Every day, different people “at least they were all women” would show up to ask some of those things. My favorite person was Madeleine, who was always sulking in the corners and cursing when someone insisted on having answers that I didn't make a point of giving.As far as I remembered, Fred's sister was a loving person, calm, chic, and very centered. Maddie's new version was unstable, irritable and very impatient. Several times a day, she threw people out of my room, and always stayed in the corner, without asking questions and without facing me with that look of pity that everyone seemed to have perfected especially for me.She used to stay in the room when Fred had to go to the bathroom or when he was called by one of his security guards who were at the door. He didn't tell me why he kept security guards a

Becca's father lived in a falling apart house, whose street housed few neighbors and several thin and angry dogs. The house was made of aged wood, with a window facing the street and the glass broken, just like a wooden door that seemed to have been leaning against to say that the property was not abandoned. There was no garden, not even a grass, as if the soil refused to bloom in that uninhabitable place.While leaving the car and investigating the neighborhood, I couldn't help but wonder if Becca and her mother didn't go through such homes throughout their lives with that man. It was not difficult to understand that he was sloppy and with a great habit of blaming others for their problems. Not even the mailbox, which was a standard of all the houses around, remained intact and in its usual reddish tone. He shouldn't worry, of course, he didn't receive mail."Mr. Hanson" called Sawyer, covering my side with his escort. “Do you prefer me to call the police instead of going in?”"Are y