"You know, you can share anything you want here," the woman said, adjusting her rimmed glasses carefully on the bridge of her nose. Her face, etched with wrinkles and years of wear, spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. Yet beneath the lines, there was a quiet beauty, a resilience that intrigued me.

I never imagined myself sitting in a psychologist’s office. Not because I thought I was crazy—far from it—but because I never believed talking would fix what was broken inside me. Still, here I was, eyes scanning the dull cream walls, the faded brown carpet, the sagging couches, and the round wooden table that anchored the room. It was as uninspiring as I felt.

"So this session is free, right?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady while my pale, cold fingers fidgeted nervously. Money was tight, and I wasn’t about to waste what little I had on a hopeless cause.

Dr. Mindy chuckled—a soft, warm sound that made her dull blue eyes brighten for a moment. "Absolutely. Just make yourself comfortable and let it all out—spill the beans!" she said with a teasing smile. I noticed how even a small smile could mask so much pain, how it hid the weight beneath the surface. I had my own masks, too.

"Okay," I said slowly, not quite sure if I was ready to let the floodgates open, but knowing I had to try. "I'm Amelia and..." My throat tightened painfully, a wave of nausea rising up, but I forced myself to breathe through it and push on. "I'm not a whore."

"No one is," she said gently, her smile steady and true. I returned it, although those words felt so much easier to say than to believe. You can never know the depth of someone’s despair unless you’ve walked their path. People toss around comfort like it’s cheap—"You’ll be fine," "Everything’s going to be okay"—but when it's time to actually help, most vanish. Hollow, that’s what people are. Life had taught me that lesson well.

"My father, Owen Torres," I said, the name tasting bitter and foreign on my tongue. "He kept me locked away in a room most days. I wasn’t allowed out except to go to school." I took a shaky breath and continued, "Once, I tried to run away for a night. I thought I’d escaped, but when I came back, he beat me with a baseball bat all night long. I never lost consciousness, so I knew every brutal moment." A hollow laugh escaped me, dark and empty.

"I did things I never thought possible. Destroyed homes, ruined lives. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. I was trapped." My hands steadied, voice unwavering as the tears slipped down unnoticed. "I was forced to seduce men for money. It wasn’t my choice—he made me. He didn’t care about me, only the money and the company he illegally controlled—my stepsister’s company."

"Where was your mother through all this? Did she know?" Dr. Mindy asked, adjusting her glasses again, scribbling notes.

I scoffed bitterly. "She was done with his cruelty. After telling her twelve-year-old daughter to sleep in another room with my little sister, she hung herself—using the very ropes he used to tie her up. But what she didn’t know was that I, her twelve-year-old daughter, couldn’t sleep that night and saw everything. The loss, the despair, everything stolen right before my eyes."

"Oh, Amelia," Dr. Mindy said softly, concern radiating from her as if she wanted to reach through the years of pain. "We can pause here if you’d like. We can continue another day."

I shook my head, voice firm though my heart felt fragile. "Waiting won’t change what’s happened. The damage is already done."

She nodded, pen poised. "Did you ever want to refuse him? You could have left."

"My little sister, Madeleine, she was my only light. He threatened to kill her if I didn’t comply." I let the tears fall freely, unashamed. "At first, I thought he wouldn’t harm his own child, but then I remembered—if he could force a child to do such things, how could he not kill? He was a sadist through and through."

"Where is your father now? Is he still alive?"

"Bad people rarely leave this world early," I said quietly. "He’s been in prison for months now."

Dr. Mindy put down her pencil, her attention fully on me. "What do you regret most?"

I tucked a stray lock of deep red hair behind my ear, eyes distant. "Regret. I’ve spent my entire life as someone I never wanted to be."

"Who?" she pressed gently.

The name echoed inside my mind, a ghost haunting every corner of my soul, leaving me empty and raw. I sighed, memories flooding back like a merciless tide. "Rebecca Torres."

The room was silent except for the soft ticking of a clock, the weight of my confession hanging between us—a fragile thread in the darkness.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t alone in the shadows.

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(Name the stars however you wish)

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To be continued.