Author's notes: This is a one shot and was written as a challenge to write a letter by one character...

This is set awhile after Bud returns to work following his injury, it's from Harriet's perspective.

Dear Diary,

I am writing this under protest and am only doing it because the therapist I am seeing said I should. I don't think it'll make any difference but it will keep her happy. I don't know why I'm even seeing a therapist; I don't have any problems, not major ones anyway.

I've had a bit of insomnia recently and I guess the lack of sleep is making me a bit cranky, but still. Bud's been making an issue of it and he's got the Admiral onside, the more of an issue they make of it the less sleep I get. If they'd both shut up about it, it might go away. But no, they keep at it.

It was the Admiral who actually suggested counseling (I think Bud put him up to it.) He said that after all I'd been through in recent times talking to someone professionally might help. What's a professional going to tell me that I don't already know?

I lost my baby daughter and, although I have moved on, there is still a gaping hole in my heart that will never mend. She'd be two now and when I see little blonde girls at the shop or playing in the park, I still catch my breath to stop me crying.

And I moved house. Now some 'professionals' say shifting can be as traumatic as a death or divorce. Bud was deployed on the Seahawk at the time and I missed him dreadfully but it was a sacrifice we agreed to make for the sake of his career.

And then there was Bud's accident and recovery. Well, that was stressful.

So I guess, there have been a few moments in recent times that could be described as traumatic, but I think I'm coping with it all.

I call it an accident because it was. Well, not an accident as such but an incident or mishap sounds so innocuous – like getting a flat tyre or rear-ended.

Accident is not technically correct as it assumes some degree of fate. Bud stood on a landmine that was deliberately planted by some son-of-a-bitch. It was designed to kill or maim anyone who had the misfortune to stand on it – and that was Bud, it wasn't an accident.

When I first heard, I thought the worst had happened. Then I found out he'd survived, but then they had to remove more of the leg. I didn't know how any of us would cope.

Then he came home and he was different. He didn't want anything from me. I think he resented me. There were some really dark nights early on when I thought Bud might end his own suffering. There were some moments when I thought that maybe death would have been preferable to the existence we had. Then when he improved I felt so terrible I'd ever thought such things. I love my husband so much, how could I ever think losing him would have been better?

After all the trials and tribulations, Bud returned to work and everything went back to normal or as normal as it was going to be. He didn't have counseling or any sort of therapy.

Now, just because I'm not sleeping well, I'm the one who needs it. How ridiculous is that? I don't want to lay on some couch and tell a stranger how scared I am to close my eyes at night. How when Bud was recovering I would lie in bed really still and think about what it would be like to be dead.

How my nightly dream, when I do sleep, is a recurring nightmare of Bud carrying baby Sarah and the landmine explodes and blowing them into a million pieces, each one hauntingly calling my name. But I can't do anything for them. They keep calling me. I tell them to stop but they keep walking towards me. I get showered in their blood and I wake up drenched in sweat. And Bud says 'It's alright, Sweetie, go back to sleep.'

Sleep. Sleep. I don't need sleep. I need to stay awake – where the dream is at bay. It can't hurt me when I'm awake. It can't hurt me.

Oh, God! I've just realised what I've written. I am scared of sleeping – I need to stay awake. Perhaps the Admiral is right, counseling may be beneficial. How did he realise things were so out of hand? It couldn't have been that glass of water I threw at him yesterday because he asked for the Hunter file, three times, could it?

Harriet

The therapist put the letter back on the table and looked up at her first client of the day. "Well done, Harriet. The first step in getting better is to acknowledge the problem first. Our time is up for today, so we'll continue this on Thursday."