“I’ve never been over here before,” I tell Derek as we enter the daycare. Bea and Tris run off to join their teacher and classmates, bringing a smile to my lips as I watch.
“Well, last I checked you don’t have a kid to put into daycare,” he shoots back with a teasing tone in his voice.
“I meant this part of town, obviously.” I stick out my tongue as he pushes against my arm.
We put the entire conversation about psychiatrists and my trauma on hold for a few days. Derek hasn’t asked me if I’ve made any decisions just yet. Which I’m grateful for because it’s been an internal struggle.
I wonder if the trauma resurfacing is making everything ten times harder. It’s odd because in the past, whenever I thought about or heard about traumatic events, nothing ev
