Chapter 30.

Callie (a few days later)

"Callie, why don't you tell me about the panic attack you had the day of the trial?" Rita asked me from her desk chair.

I flinched, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and shame. "Do I have to?" I wondered how she even knew about it, but I figured Stef or Lena must have told her.

"Well, you don't have to," Rita said. "I wont force you. But I'd like to understand what happened."

I sighed, picking lint from Rita's couch. "I just got scared. I freaked out."

"Okay," Rita nodded. "What did the panic attack feel like? Can you describe it?"

I sighed. My hands suddenly felt shaky. "It felt like I couldn't breath, like there was something heavy on my chest. My throat was tight, and my legs felt like jelly. And I felt hot all over."

Rita nodded again. "What did it feel like in your head? What were you thinking?"

I thought her question over for a moment. "I don't remember."

"Just do the best you can," Rita said. She took a piece of cinnamon gum from a pack on her desk, then held out the pack to me. "Want a piece?"

"Thanks." I took a piece and chewed it, and the hot-sweet taste filled my mouth. "I felt... it's hard to describe. I guess, like I didn't have control over anything. Like I was in a nightmare. Sort of." I felt tears prick my eyes, and I tried to squeeze them back in.

"Feeling out of control can be scary," Rita nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. "I bet you felt the same way the night Brian was killed."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I guess so."

"How did you come down from the panic attack?" she asked me. "How long did it take?"

"Ten or fifteen minutes," I shrugged. "Stef... mom... helped me. She washed my face and talked to me. She hugged me and told me to breath."

"That's very good," said Rita. "She did the right thing." She glanced up at her clock. "Okay, honey. Your time's up. Do you have any questions for me?"

"No," I said.

"Then we'll talk more about this next week," she said. "Come on. I'll walk you out. I need to talk to your mom for a minute."

Stef

"I win again," said Sophia, smiling triumphantly.

"You're way to smart for this old lady," I laughed, ruffling her hair. We'd been playing Candy Crush together in the waiting room, while we waited for Callie to be done with her appointment with Rita.

Sophia handed me my phone, and I started my turn, just as Rita and Callie emerged from Rita's office."Mrs. Foster?" Rita asked. "I'd like to speak to you if you have a minute."

"Of course," I said. I passed my phone back to Sophia. "You know what, love? You play this round for me, okay?"

"Okay," she said.

I stood up, and crossed the room. Callie's face was pale, and her eyes were red. I reached out and gave her a quick squeeze. "I'll be right out, love. Go ahead and sit down." I pressed a kiss to the side of her head before she could walk away.

"Is everything okay?" I asked Rita, as she ushered me into her office. I took a seat, crossing my legs in front of me.

"Everything is fine," she assured me. "It's been a pleasure getting to know Callie and Sophia. I just wanted to let you know that based on what I've observed of them, and what they've told me, I feel like I can safely diagnose the girls with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

A strange feeling washed over me, a sense of relief mingled with grief. "I thought as much," I nodded.

"You have good instincts," Rita told me.

"I've read about it," I told her. But what's more, a mother just knows those kinds of things. I could see it in their eyes. I saw it in Sophia just the night before, when she'd walked in on Jesus playing a violent video game with graphic shooting, and froze in fear. I saw it in Callie when she woke up, screaming, in the middle of the night. That haunted look. Maybe it was instincts?

I closed my eyes for a moment, and a tear slid down my cheek.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, grabbing a tissue from the end table beside me.

"Don't be," Rita said. "It's understandable. You love your daughters. You want what's best for them." She shuffled through some notes. "We used to think PTSD was specific to soldiers who'd been affected by war. Now we know that all kinds of traumatic experiences can trigger it. For Callie and Sophia, every day was like fighting a war, just to survive. And those memories are hard to forget."

"What can we do for them?" I asked, as fresh tears sprung to my eyes. "Lena and I are willing to do whatever it takes to help them."

"I'll continue working with them," Rita told me. "We'll work on cognitive therapy, and finding coping skills. There's medication, but they're so young. It seems to me that you're already giving them what they need at home; patience, support, and love."

"We try to always find the time for them," I said. "I just wish we had more time. But we have three other kids, with problems of their own, and our jobs..."

"Don't worry," Rita assured me. "From what I've seen, you and your wife are doing a remarkable job with Callie and Sophia. I've never seen such a strong bond between kids and foster parents."

"That's good to hear," I smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Rita nodded. "And if you have any more questions, feel free to contact me."

"Is everything okay?" Callie asked, watching me suspiciously, as I cam from Rita's office. "You've been crying."

I sat down between the girls and gathered them close to me. "Everything's fine, my babies," I reassured them. "Don't you worry."

"Are you sure everything's alright?" Callie pressed. "You're worrying me, mom."

"We'll talk in the car," I told them, as another family came into the waiting room.

I led them out of the lobby, and we found our car in the parking lot. When we were locked inside, I turned around in my seat. "Callie, love, do you remember when we talked about the possibility of you and your sister having Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Why?"

"Well," I said. "Rita believes that you do have it.

"What's Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" Sophia asked me.

"I'll explain it the best I can, honey," I told her. "It's a psychiatric disorder that sometimes happens when a person's been through something traumatic. That scary feeling just doesn't go away for some people, even once they're safe. It's the reason why you feel so afraid when you see Jesus's video games, or hear a loud noise. And why Callie has her sleep troubles and panic attacks."

"Does it mean we're crazy?" Sophia asked me, her voice trembling.

"No, baby," I said. "Not at all. You're both perfect. It's just an obstacle in your lives that Mama and I, along with Rita, are gonna help you through."

She nodded. "Will we get better?"

"Yes," I promised. "It might take some time. But I believe love can heal anything."

"Oh good. You're home," said Lena, when we came in the door. "I need to talk to you."

"I need to talk to you too," I told her. The girls had already gone off to their room. Lena and I sat down together in the living room.

"You go first," Lena offered. "My news might take a while."

I told Lena about the girl's diagnosis, trying to remember all of what Rita had said.

"Poor babies," Lena mussed. "How did they take it?"

"Not too bad, actually," I said. "I'm not sure Soph completely understands it all. Callie was mostly worried about me." I sighed. "No one ever said being a parent is easy."

"But it's sure rewarding," Lena smiled.

"So, what's your news?" I asked her. "Tell me."

"I got a call from Bill," she said. "There's one hitch in the adoption. It seems that Callie and Sophia's father still has parental rights. They've located him, though, and they'll be serving him with abandonment papers to sign. But Bill also mentioned the girls having an opportunity to see him again first."

"In prison?" I asked. "I don't know, Lena."

"That's the thing," she went on. "Stef, he was released from prison almost a year ago."

I let the news sink in, my jaw tightening. "So, he's been out of prison all this time, and he's never tried to contact them?"

"We don't know that for sure," Lena said. "I was hoping Callie could give us more information about him. Sophia was so little when he had to leave. But Callie was ten."

"I'll get her," I said, getting up. I went to the stairs and called for our daughter.

"What?" she asked, coming to the top of the staircase.

"Can you come down, love?" I asked. "Mama and I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure," she said, hurrying down. "What's up?"

To Be Continued