VANESSA
One memory cracked open the floodgates. There was no gentle stream of recollections—just a violent deluge that threatened to drown me.
"Breathe, Vanessa," Dr. Keane's voice seemed to echo from miles away. "You're doing remarkably well."
Well? I was fracturing. Splitting at the seams. My hands clutched the edges of the couch as memories crashed into me like angry waves.
"It's too much," I gasped.
"Your mind is healing itself. Don't fight it."
I couldn't have fought it if I tried. The memory of saving Roman had broken something fundamental—the last lock holding back the fullness of my life. Now everything was rushing in at once, disjointed and overwhelming.
Running through summer meadows with Leo, my brother's laughter ringing through the air.
My mother brushing my hair before bed, telling me stories of brave she-wolves who changed pack history.
