Look What You Made Me Do

The bells clang as the dark wood door to the Love You a Latte cafe opens. A gush of wind enters the shop and the fake vines on the light-beige-almost-white wall sway back and forth. I glance up from the cash register and see that tall woman with blonde hair and glasses walk in again. This time, she has on knee-high, black boots over dark skinny jeans. So typical of the women in this city. I know her order is going to be a major headache, something she got out of Women’s Health Magazine. As usual, she won’t be satisfied with the long list of drinks already on the menu listed on the blackboard wall behind me. She’ll order something with lots of flavors and details she wants just right. Behind her, waddle in two young children. She’s never had children with her before, are they hers? The first looks about six or seven. She has brown curly hair and glasses. Her green eyes are accentuated by a light green top that reads: Save the Planet. Behind her is a charming little boy, I’d guess about three years old. He’s smiling and the gap in his front two teeth make it the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen. His cheeks are pale and flushed from the cold and a pom pom dangles in front of his eyes from a blue knit hat. There are a few brown curls peeking out from underneath his hat. The lady definitely looks like she could be their mother. Although, I never would’ve pegged her as a mom. She’s too young and her perfectly sculpted body is rocking those skinny jeans too well. Hmm, though, maybe there’s more to her than I thought. That superficial attitude I was picking up on earlier could simply be an attention to detail. Is she a perfectionist? Her order could be her allowing herself to have something she wants in a day where she will probably be giving up her own desires to cater to her kids. My eyes glaze over the other customers; one young man typing something rapidly on his macbook – probably a thesis, three women in yoga pants holding warm drinks with both hands and most likely gossiping about whether Patricia’s seemed depressed lately, and one old married couple – the only people in here who don’t make me want to rip out my insides and stick them in the blender. I find my gaze returning to the little boy. He has on this adorable jean jacket that seems a bit out of place, it being only a few weeks away from Christmas. The little boy tugs on his older sister's down coat, of course little miss princess gets to be warm while her brother freezes. She brushes him off a little too hard and he falls to the ground. 

On his way down his head hits a rock and blood starts gushing out. Blood. There’s so much blood. How could such a small person have so much blood? It's a deep red and it's quickly wrapping around the large rock. The tall oak trees behind him start to blur as my eyes lose focus. I can’t see the lake anymore or the bird's nest sitting in that one tree ahead. All I hear is my mom letting out an immense gasp, one I haven’t heard since I fell off my bike and broke my arm. She falls to her knees by his side. She holds his head and starts to cry. My dad grabs my tiny hand to pull me away and his frantic, bellowing voice begins to yell. 

“What have you done Becca? What were you thinking?”

My mom wails in the background, “Ohh Nicholas, stay with me baby!” I slowly approach my brother and see his blonde hair turned brown and his olive face is now pale. His body lays there, in the dirt, motionless. My dad joins my mom on the ground, holding her and crying too. “This is all your fault Becca. What have you done?” 

This is all your fault. What have you done?

“What have you done Maggy??” I shake my head and reorient myself to my surroundings. I see the Taylor Swift Fearless tour poster on the wall across from me. Someone Like You plays on the radio and there’s a slight drizzle outside. The smell of coffee beans floods my senses and I am grounded once again. The tall mom, whose voice shook me from my daymare, is angrily rushing over to her son. She picks him up and says. “Shhhh Eliot, we’re in public.” 

How devious of her. Maggie is the one who pushed him yet Eliot gets the blame. Of course the mom’s yelling makes him cry even more. She shouldn’t be yelling like that but maybe she’s just stressed about work or hasn’t had her coffee yet. I recall a fall afternoon, back when I was in third grade, when I got a One Hundred on my spelling quiz. I was so excited to show my mom that I ran all the way home from school, in the rain. My rainboots were drenched in mud and my clothes and hair were dripping, but I didn’t care. I went up to my mom’s home office and told her my success and showed her the paper. At first, she didn’t look up from her computer, so I told her again. This time she did look up and I immediately wished she hadn’t. Her face contorted into a view of horror and disappointment. “BECCA! You're dripping all over the carpet!” 

“Mom, I wanted to show you this.” I handed her my spelling quiz which was also a bit wet. 

“Ughh, Becca go change immediately!” I slouched off to my room to change and didn’t bother telling her about the quiz again. 

This mom notices the three women staring at her with judgement written all over their faces and the college student seems annoyed at the noisy disruption. She switches immediately to the kind, comforting mother she should’ve been from the start. “Oh sweetie, did you stumble?” 

Yes, I knew she was capable of warmth. The kid nods, still in distress. “It’s okay, darling. It was only a little fall.”

 This comment reminds me of later that day when my mother came into my room with the spelling quiz. She had laid it on the heater so it could dry. “Becca.” My mom said, sitting down next to me on my bed. “This is a great accomplishment dear. Con-sci-ou-sness, that's a hard word! I mean I can barely even pronounce it.” My face brightened and I laughed, which made my mom laugh too. That moment made up for all of the anger and despair I was feeling earlier in the day.

The mother gives Eliot a little brush on the head and starts walking towards me. Maggy tags along behind them. Her face is blank. No sign of remorse or shame. This girl is cold, she might have learned it from her mom’s slip-ups. This poor boy, he’s way too cute to have her as a sister. She’s supposed to protect him and she’s failing. Plus, their parents are probably busy with work, trying to provide for them. I bet they don’t even realize what kind of danger he’s in.

“I’m so sorry about that” the woman says in the whisper that moms use when they are embarrassed by their kids. I want to say You’re apologizing for him? How about making your heartless daughter apologize. Instead, I reply, “Oh no worries, ma’am. What can I get for you?” 

I'm used to that. Being polite when you really want to tear them a new one. Growing up in Connecticut I received that type of response all of the time. It was always from overly happy moms who think they're better than everyone else because they drink green juice for breakfast and wear yoga pants to drop their kids off at school. My family was always lying. Always saying they’re fine when they’re not. Covering up the horrible truth. Covering up my horrible truth.

“I’ll just have a grande iced matcha latte with oat milk and honey. Oh and could you please make sure that oat milk is organic.”  Ugh, grande? This isn’t Starbucks, I know you can do better than that.

“Will do, ma’am, but we don’t have ‘grande’ here, do you mean medium?” I ask, hoping to knock her down a peg, or maybe even impress her with my attention to detail.
“Oh um... yeah. And is the honey no sugar added?” 
“Yes, it’s just natural honey” I say, flashing her a slight smile. I don’t think she senses my sarcasm because she smiles back, pays and then gives me a three dollar tip. Wow, maybe I did impress her. My stomach drops as I think back to how it felt to impress my mom as a kid, which was hard to come by. Seeing the look of pride on her face was the best feeling in the world for me. I never saw it again after that day in the woods.

I pour the steaming water into the Doukessho matcha bowl and whisk it until the water becomes frothy. We make it the traditional way at Love You a Latte where you brew the matcha first and then add it to the milk. It creates much more flavor and if I may add, culture, to the drink than just adding matcha powder and honey to milk like most of the other cafes do. I glance over to the family’s table. The mom is rapidly texting on her phone while her kids sit next to her looking bored out of their minds. Ughh, this mom just keeps proving my stereotype right and honestly I’m about one wrong move from calling CPS on her. Becca stop, she’s doing important work stuff, how can you be so critical? She probably owns her own business or is a social worker and needs to have her phone out in case of emergencies.

“One iced matcha latte with oat milk and honey.” I announce. The mom is on a call now. She walks over to the counter and picks up her latte. No thank you, but  I get it, she’s probably busy.

“I know! It’s such a disappointment! Brett and I were really looking forward to going out tonight but the sitter canceled, she has some kind of performance I think.” The mom complains to whoever is on the other line. I’m about to go back to work when a genius idea pops into my head. I know how I can help this mom, who clearly needs a hand, while also keeping an eye on that Maggie to make sure she doesn’t hurt Eliot.

“Umm, ma’am?” The lady turns around to look at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I’m a student at NYU and I babysit for some parents in the city. Your kids look really sweet and I actually don’t have anything going on tonight, so I could sit for them!” 

Please say yes. Pleaseee. The woman looks skeptical at first but she tells her friend that she’ll have to call her back and hangs up the phone.

“Okay, do you have anyone I could check your credentials with?” 

“Yes, of course, ma’am.” I scribble down the number of a woman whose kids I babysit for on a napkin and hand it to her. “You can call her, she’s one of my clients.” The mom glances down at the napkin and then looks up at me and smiles. She pulls out her phone and dials the number. I rush over to the cashier to take the next person’s order while the mom calls the number I gave her. 

“Good morning, welcome to Love You a Latte Cafe, what can I get for you?” 

    Staring back at me is a man in his early twenties with dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a navy blue sweater and dark wash jeans. He has on dirty white converse and there are apple headphones looped around his ear. He smiles and orders our holiday special drink. 

    “Awesome! I actually made the recipe for that drink and it is my favorite on the menu.” 

    “Oh that’s so cool! Christmas is my favorite time of year and I think it deserves to be celebrated in any way one can.” 

My first few winters, my brother would start wearing ugly christmas sweaters the week after halloween. And when our family would drive up to Vermont to ski in late March he would still be asking my dad to play our Christmas Classics CD. My mom, dad and I would groan about it, but everytime my dad would cave and pop it in the car stereo system. The joy on my brother's face would make listening to the same 12 songs for two hours seem like no cost at all. If Nicholas were here he would’ve been the first one to taste my drink and he would’ve loved it. 

    “I totally agree.” I say smiling at the man as he hands me a five dollar bill. “One moment while I make your drink.” 

    I pour our Christmas Roast into a small mug and add a dollop of whipped cream and top it off with a sprinkle of peppermint shavings. I hand the drink to the man just as the mom is getting off the phone. She turns around with a smile on her face and walks back over to the counter.

“The woman gave a glowing recommendation so it would be a real help if you could babysit tonight! What’s your number so I can text you the details?” 

“Oh, of course! So glad I could help, mom.” I start adding my number to her phone. 

“What was that?” She is staring at me with a confused look on her face. What happened? 

“I’m sorry, did I do something?”

“Oh, umm, I just thought I heard you call me mom.” She lets out a small, nervous, giggle. “Must’ve just been a mistake, nevermind.”

“I am so sorry ma’am! I didn’t me–”

“No, no dear, it's perfectly fine.” I hand her back her phone and she and her kids leave. What went through my head just then? Maybe she misheard me? I don’t remember calling her that. Anyway, just forget about it. Besides, this is perfect! Now I can save Eliot, I have to. 

Hi! This is Emily from the coffee shop. Thank you so much for relieving me and my husband tonight, we really needed the break! We live at 726 Lexington Ave. Can you babysit from 630-11 pm? Thanks!

Hi Emily! Thank you so much for this opportunity, I look forward to spending time with those beautiful kids of yours! 630-11 is perfect.

I shiver as I walk up the steps to the Lexington Ave brownstone. It’s five times the size of my studio apartment in the East Village. Most of my classmates live together, cramming five people into two bedrooms because they can’t afford to live alone. My parents bought me the apartment as a Christmas present last year. Honestly, it was probably not so much a gift but an insurance that I wouldn’t be living in their house ever again. This is what I was expecting of a Lexington Ave brownstone but it was still a sight to marvel at. It had a classic NYC mansard roof with a mint green tint on it. The windows were long and plentiful, probably giving the house lots of light. My parents would’ve loved that. The steps matched the reddish brown of the house and they curved a little bit, forming a small spiral. There were a few bushes of azaleas behind the elegant black gate. I walk up those steps, feeling like a princess and ring the doorbell. The door opens to reveal Eliot standing behind it.

“Hi there! My name is Becca, what’s your name?” The boy smiles and then hides behind the leg of a very tall man who is now at the door. 

“This is Eliot and I’m Brett. Thank you so much for doing this. We really appreciate it.” Brett was wearing a cabled navy blue sweater and black slacks. His hair is dirty blonde and face chiseled. He looks straight out of vogue yet, if I look closely, I can almost see worry lines covered up by a pristine skin care routine. His eyes are warm but that’s harder to see through his hard exterior. Brett gives me his number and the number of the restaurant they are going to and Emily leaves me fifty dollars for dinner. They tell me that we can go out for dinner or stay in and that the kids need to be in bed by 10 pm. That’s weird, mom never lets me and Nicholas stay up that late. The kids and I wave goodbye as they head out the door. 

Eliot and Maggie aren’t hungry for dinner yet so we decide to watch a movie on their big screen T.V. The living room is filled with dark oak and black and maroon furniture. In the back, tucked away is a liquor table. I think back to the parties my parents would throw. My mom loved being a hostess so there were always people over. However, they were “adult parties” so my parents would put a movie on in my room and hope I’d fall asleep while watching it. I didn’t want to be a disturbance so even after the movie finished and I was wide awake, I would lie in bed trying to drown out the noise from downstairs until I could fall asleep. One time I snuck out of my room to watch the party from the stairs. I saw my dad gathered with a few men by the liquor table making them all drinks. He loved making drinks for people, after a long day of work I could always find him sitting in his arm chair drinking a small glass of scotch. I don’t think he drank to get away like I have. He enjoyed the sophistication of it. The small hints of cinnamon or the difference between five year old aged liquor and five and a half. I could imagine Brett doing the same thing. 

In one of the corners of the living room rests a bookshelf of maybe two to three-hundred books on it. A few titles jump out at me: Pride and Prejudice, Lord of the Flies, and The Great Gatsby. Huh, maybe Brett is a high school English teacher or possibly I’m just not sophisticated enough to recognize any other books. 

I sit on the couch with Eliot and Maggie flipping through the movies until they can agree on one. They have a lot of movies on demand. Many of which are far too old for Eliot and Maggy. My parents refused to sit with me and Nicholas while we fell asleep as kids. Even if we got scared about monsters under the bed or figures in the dark they would say we have to keep each other company. We could always hear the voices on the T.V. from the show or movie my parents would watch as we fell asleep. When Nicholas died I would lie awake terrified of monsters, and when I got older it was murderers and rapists who clouded my mind. Haha. It’s kinda funny when you think about it, I was scared of the thing that I had become. This time will be different. I’ll save this one.

We finish watching Frozen II and I think it’s time to start my plan. “Hey kiddos, you must be hungry! Wanna go out for pizza?” Eliot and Maggy jump up and down with excitement. I bundle them up in many warm layers and we head to a pizza place a few blocks away. 

When we get back the kids are practically asleep. I tucked Maggy in first and read her  “Brother and Sister” from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The story is about a brother and sister who go out into the woods to escape their awful stepmother who's a witch. Despite the sister’s warnings, the younger brother drinks from a river and is turned into a roebuck. She takes care of him. She aids his wounds when he gets shot by a king while he is out hunting. One day the king shows up at the brother and sister’s door and whisks away the sister to marry her. The Roebuck comes along because the sister would never abandon her brother. One day the wicked step-mother finds out that the brother and sister are living lavish-royal lives. She sends her real daughter to disguise herself as the queen and kick the sister out of the castle. When the king finds out, he burns the step mother at the stake and has her daughter eaten by wolves. It’s not the cushiest of stories yet it gets the message across. The importance of looking out for your younger brother is something Maggie needs to learn that I learned too late. When she was fast asleep I picked up Eliot and headed for the door. It was 8:45 pm, I had decided to put Maggy to bed at an hour I felt was more appropriate. I now had just over an hour to get to my apartment, hide Eliot there, come back to their house on Lexington and call the police to report him as missing. 

“Becca, where are we going?” Eliot said, looking up at me with worried eyes.
“Somewhere safe.” 
“But, I’m tired.” My heart tugged at this statement. Was I making a mistake? What if he doesn’t want to leave? No. No, he’s just a poor little boy. He doesn’t even know what kind of danger he would be in without me.

“It’s okay Eliot, you can sleep on the way.” 
9:00 p.m. 
Luckily, Eliot was fast asleep on my lap after two stops on the Six train. His fluffy hair was soft against my neck. I could feel his little heart beating. He was sleeping so soundly. That’s right Eliot, you are safe now.
9:22 p.m.
I balance Eliot in one arm while I search for my keys in the other. I quietly open the door and realize that my apartment is a mess. There are papers scattered all over my desk from finals I’m working on and my laptop is open yet the screen is black, it’s probably dead. I see a full cup of coffee on the counter that I forgot to drink. I glance over to my unmade bed, there’s a pile of dirty clothes on the floor next to it. On the couch, I set up some cotton sheets, a warm comforter, and a pillow. Relieved that Eliot is still fast asleep when I lay him onto the couch, I quickly gather my things. Before leaving, I take one last look at Eliot. He looks peaceful, it almost reminds me of Nicholas’s face on that day. Blood was dripping from his hairline down his cheek, my parents were screaming in the background, yet he just laid there looking the most serene I had ever seen him.
9:55 p.m.
Back at the house, I grab my phone from my purse and dial 9-1-1. I wait for the operator as I admire the design of their dining room. There is a set of china locked away in a cabinet that the kids wouldn’t be able to reach – smart. I sit down at the head of the table and the chair is surprisingly comfortable against my back. 

“9-1-1, what's your emergency?” The operator has a high-pitched voice. Good, a woman. Women show more concern and sympathy for crimes involving children. As one of my Psych papers this semester, I decided to research the psychology of crimes involving children. I start breathing heavily and fill my voice with worry. 

“I can’t find him!”

“Find who?” The operator asks, already sounding concerned. 

“Eliot, the boy I am babysitting for.” I know that she needs more information but I figure that if Eliot were in fact kidnapped, the sitter would be too distraught to think clearly enough to give her the info she needs. I am cool and collected. I won’t make any mistakes here. Every move I make and word I utter will be well thought out. 

“Okay ma’am. I’m going to need you to tell me what happened. The police have your location and they are on their way. Stay on the phone with me and explain when and where it was that you last saw him.” I take a deep breath, quivering my voice, and reply.

“I had taken the kids out for pizza earlier and Eliot left his stuffed giraffe that he brings with him everywhere at the pizza place.” I made sure to bring one of Eliot's stuffed animals to the restaurant so the owner would see us come back to retrieve it that night. One of the first things Eliot showed me when I got to the house was his stuffed animal collection and he said the giraffe was his favorite. It was perfect, almost as if God wanted me to succeed in my plan to save Eliot.“We went back to get it and I reached down to grab it under the table where it had fallen. When I stood up I couldn’t see Eliot. I looked for him up and down the block and called for him. Bu-but I couldn’t--” I pretended to break down into tears. 

“Okay ma’am, it’s okay. Just breathe. You will have help with you soon. Approximately when did you see him last?”

“Uhh, 8-8:50 I think.”

“You said 8:50?” I confirm the time. “That was an hour ago. What have you been doing since then?” I had to tell her 8:50 so that when the police interrogated the Pizza Place they could place us there retrieving the stuffed animal at that time.

“Well, I walked around the block a couple of times and went about four blocks in each direction searching for Eliot and when I couldn’t find him I wanted to call the police but my phone was dead so I came back to their house to use the landline. I know an hour seems like a long time to be looking for him and thinking back on it now, well oh boy--” My voice breaks, and I begin to cry again.

“It’s okay ma’am, I understand.” I hear a ring. That must be the police. I say goodbye to the operator and go answer the door and two police walk in. One is a woman, about 5’2’’, brown curly hair and tan skin. She looks like the dominant one in the partnership. Next to her is a tall, slender, white male with glasses. The police ask me the same questions the operator asked and a few more. Maggy was awake now and also being questioned, she had been asleep when we went back to the pizza place so she wasn’t much help to the police. She looked so scared. Her hand was permanently placed in her mouth where she was biting her fingernails and her eyes suddenly looked innocent. Becca, what have you done? You were wrong. This girl is not evil and not going to hurt Eliot. No, no. I saw it in her eyes at the coffee shop. She must be dangerous.

Emily and Brett clamber in through the door both with looks of horror displayed on their faces. Emily’s mascara is all over her face and you can now see the worry lines on Brett’s forehead. I expect them to start screaming at me just like that horrible day my brother hit his head. Emily instead pulls me into a tight hug and Brett begins to apologize.

“I am so sorry that you had to go through this. I know how scary this must have been for you Rebecca.” What is happening? Their son was just kidnapped under my watch and they are apologizing to me? Are they not as cold and superficial as I thought they were? 

Emily is rocking Maggy, who is now crying, back and forth in her lap. Brett is by my side with his arm on my upper back. “Becca, is there anything I can do for you? Would you like us to call your parents? I know you’re in college but someone should take you home, you aren’t in the right mindset to go home alone.” 

I made a mistake. This was all a huge mistake. I should never have pushed Nicholas that day, it turned me into a monster. But back then I was just a little girl and that's what Maggie is. She’s a little girl who got a bit too aggressive in the shop. I shouldn’t have come to work today, I knew it was going to be hard for me. I mean ten years since he died is a big deal and obviously, it messed with my head. First Emily turning out to be a mom. Then Eliot’s fall and the guy who ordered the holiday drink. There were just too many reminders of him. Eliot was never in danger until I entered his life. I am the common denominator here. I am the monster. Oh, what have I done?! 

“I did it!” Everyone in the room looks at me. 

“What? You did what?” Emily asks, standing up resting Maggy on her hip. Her face looks horror-stricken, she already knows what I did but needs me to confirm it. 

“It was me.” I say, looking at the floor. “I kidnapped Eliot, he’s at my apartment right now.”

“I-I don’t understand. Why would you do that!?” Brett asks, stepping away from me. 

“I misjudged you all. I thought Eliot was in danger when I saw Maggy push him in the coffee shop and I needed to save him . . .  I realize now that I’m the danger.” I sank to the floor, the realization of what I was going to do if I got away with the crime was too painful to bear. I would’ve taken Eliot away from his family, just like I took Nicholas away from mine. “I’m so-so sorry. I’m-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Emily puts Maggy down and rushes into the living room. Brett follows her and the police slowly start to handcuff me.

Emily’s POV

    Emily, you are a trained Psychologist, you should’ve seen the signs. How could you leave your children with this clearly deranged woman? “Em, what is happening right now?? Where did you meet this woman?”  I turn to look at Brett who is in complete disbelief. 

    “Brett, she’s in real need of some help. She obviously has something in her past that has led her to this crime. But oh-my-god” My voice cracks and Brett brings me into an embrace. “Rebecca kidnapped our baby boy. This night will affect him for the rest of his life. She took his innocence from him! She just took it.”

    “I know, I know.” Brett says brushing my hair. “Thank goodness, he’s safe now.” I pull away from Brett to look him in the eyes.

    “I think this girl needs help. We should send her to a mental hospital, I know a place that would be per-”

    “Emily! Why are you thinking about that? Eliot was just kidnapped by this woman! You need to stop thinking like a Psychologist and think like a mother.” This makes me enraged, where does he get off telling me to think like a mom.

“I AM THINKING LIKE A MOTHER BRETT. What do you think I’m doing? This girl clearly doesn’t have a positive female example in her life and needs help that her parents aren’t giving her. We are gonna help her Brett. I don’t wanna hear it.” Brett looks down at his feet and then back up at me. 

    “You’re right Em. Let’s help her.”

Rebecca’s POV

Emily and Brett come out of the living room and Emily slowly approaches me. I flinch, expecting her to slap me yet instead I feel her arms around me. “Thank you, for telling us, Becca. That was very brave of you. We are going to get you some help now. The police are going to help you.” Good. I’m sick. I hope they take me away and never let me see the light of day again. I deserve to die, that’s the only way the world will be safe. The police handcuff me and take me to the station for questioning and a psych evaluation. At my hearing a few weeks later, the judge, at Emily’s recommendation, assigns me to a mental hospital in upstate New York.
A small blue Honda that looks as if it just went to the car wash sits across the street. It is in pristine condition. No visible damage has been done to it, not even a small scratch from scraping it with a zipper as one walks by. The trunk seems to serve as a storage space for Costco bulk items and camping gear. The seats are soft and black, also in perfect condition. A woman with brown hair tied up into a messy bun approaches the car. She’s wearing dark mom jeans, spotless white shoes, and a tan sweater. Her makeup is subtle but sweet. She has calm blue eyes, just as I remember, and glasses with a tortoiseshell frame, that part was new. On her back is a forest green Kanken and in her left hand are her car keys and a medium iced coffee with almond milk, I assume. In her right hand are a MacBook and a big binder with paper sticking out. She gracefully slides into her Honda. Places her coffee in the cup holder, puts her laptop and binder on the passenger seat, and starts her car. I heard she started an internship at a pediatric hospital downtown. That must be nice for her, being around kids all of the time. That was always her dream, to be able to help little ones in need. I am glad Becca’s doing so much better. I watch her glide out of the parking space and drive away. I zip up my Burberry puffer and head into my still-favorite cafe, Love You a Latte. The first year was pretty rough for the four of us. Eliot started having behavioral issues in school and Maggie was waking up in a sweat almost every night. Now, three years later, I feel as though our family is closer than ever. Although I’m happy Becca is doing well, I mean I feel like I have to be with my job and all the knowledge I have about mental illness, I still get angry. In my worse moments, I wish Becca wasn’t doing well. I wish she was suffering like Eliot had and will for the rest of his life. I try to remind myself that she seems better but she’s probably still feeling guilt for Eliot and even more, for Nicholas. All I can do now is listen to my clients and try to help them in the best way possible. I couldn’t help Becca earlier in life yet maybe I can help other people just like her.

 

mimisammons123

NY

17 years old

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