A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter.
Chapter 21
On Tuesday after school, Grace had her first appointment with her new therapist – someone who was recommended to Emily by the therapist that Grace saw while she was living in the group home.
But Emily waited until Monday night to tell Grace.
Up until then, Emily had sort of skirted around the subject of therapy. Grace should have known it was coming at some point; but, wary of her reaction, Emily waited to tell her about the impending appointment until the night before.
The memory of Grace blowing up on her in her office when told that Emily had scheduled a doctor appointment for her on their first day back in D.C. made Emily want to delay the inevitable conversation for as long as she could.
Now that they had gotten through Grace's first day of school, and with the appointment the next day, Emily had no choice. She had to tell her.
When Grace emerged from the bathroom after her shower that night, Emily called her into the living room. It was the second night in a row that Emily was waiting for her with two mugs of chamomile tea.
Grace joined Emily on the couch, accepting the mug.
"Is all your homework done?" Emily asked, wanting to make sure of that before delving into the therapy conversation. She assumed it was.
Grace had disappeared into her room for hours before dinner under the guise of doing homework. She ignored Emily's suggestion that it might be easier to do her work at the kitchen table since there wasn't a desk in the guest room that was now Grace's room. Emily would get a desk for Grace's room, but she thought it would make more sense to wait until they moved into the house and just have furniture delivered there.
Grace had just brought the mug to her lips and taken a sip of tea, so she merely nodded in response at first. She mumbled an indistinct, "uh-huh," as she swallowed her tea.
"Do you need help with anything?" Emily checked.
"No," Grace said.
Knowing that the thirteen-year-old had missed more than two weeks of school and had also been moved from more of an inner-city school to one that was highly rated and likely more challenging, Emily studied her facial expression for any signs that she was lying. Seeing none, Emily accepted the answer at face-value and moved on.
"Tomorrow you have an appointment with your new therapist at 4:00," Emily said matter-of-factly. "We need to leave right after school."
"I don't need a new therapist. I already have a therapist," Grace protested. She didn't want to go to any therapist, but if she had to go to one, she at least wanted to go to the one she knew and was comfortable talking to. Nothing she had said to Kara had ever come back to bite her.
Emily inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Kara. I know. But she doesn't take private clients."
"Yes, she does," Grace argued, misunderstanding. "She does group therapy and private."
"It's not that she doesn't do private therapy. She can't take private clients – kids who aren't in foster care," Emily clarified.
"What? Why?" Grace asked. She set her half-empty mug down on the coffee table and was staring at Emily with a look of consternation on her face.
"She works for the government. And foster care is run by the government. That's why she only works with kids who are in foster care," Emily tried to explain to her thirteen-year-old in a way that she would understand. It was an over-simplification. Kara worked for an agency that received government funding and only served children in the foster care system. "Now that I have custody of you," Emily continued, "you'll be going to a different therapist - one who takes private clients."
"Why do I even have to go to therapy at all?" Grace asked, her voice becoming more high-pitched by the second as she geared up for a fight. She looked at Emily with an accusatory gaze. "Did you even talk to Kara?"
"Yes, I-"
"Well, then, did she tell you that I'm not crazy?" Grace interrupted, suddenly sounding very defensive.
She knew Kara didn't think she was crazy. There were other girls in the group home who had to go to therapy, too; and, some of their therapists put them on drugs for things like ADHD, depression, anxiety, and PTSD. It wasn't their fault – some of them had been in foster homes that were way worse than Grace's worst foster home. One of the girls was raped by her foster father. Grace thought that would be enough to screw anyone up for life. The thought of one of some creepy foster father like Mr. Carlson making her do…that made Grace's skin crawl. But, anyway, Grace had never been diagnosed with anything or given anything because there was nothing wrong with her.
"It's not about being crazy," Emily was quick to assure her. "No one thinks that."
"What is it about then?" Grace demanded, not quite believing her mother.
"Dealing with everything you've been through," Emily told her. She was trying to make it clear that it was about what had happened to her, not anything about Grace herself. Grace had no control over what was done to her.
When Grace rolled her eyes and scoffed in disagreement, Emily knew she wasn't convinced.
"You lost three parental figures before the age of eight," Emily said gently.
Grace had been staring straight ahead of her, glaring at the wall, but at that, she turned her head to look at Emily again, her expression becoming incredulous. "I'm thirteen. I don't need therapy now for something that happened six years ago!"
"You just found out that your father killed your adoptive parents and lied to you about it," Emily pointed out. Her point was that what Ian Doyle did affected Grace, who was now trying to make sense of her feelings toward her father, but that wasn't the way Grace took it.
"So, what, I must have been crazy to have ever believed him?" Grace asked her angrily, standing up in outrage. "You know what? Fine! I'll go to the therapist, so she can tell you that I'm not crazy…just dumb enough to believe him." At first, she was almost yelling, but the last part was muttered under her breath like she didn't know if she wanted Emily to hear it.
For Grace, that was the end of the conversation. Emily won. Grace already said that she'd go to the new therapist...like she even had a choice. She knew she didn't. Not really. She turned to leave, ready to walk away. But whether Grace wanted her to hear or not, Emily did hear the last six words and looked at her daughter sadly. Was that really what Grace thought?
"You were six, not stupid," Emily told the girl firmly.
Grace was already walking away but stopped for the briefest of seconds, standing stiffly with her back to Emily, before continuing in the direction of her room without acknowledging what Emily had just said to her. Maybe Emily didn't think she was stupid, but Emily still thought she was so screwed up that she needed professional help.
Emily momentarily debated going after her, but she had never been able to get through to Grace when she was shutting down like this. Her daughter's behavior now was reminiscent of the first few days they were together, when the girl wouldn't listen to reason and could barely stand to be in the same room as Emily. Better to let her sleep it off, Emily decided. Anything Emily said or did now would just make Grace angrier and more upset. Grace wasn't listening - and she wasn't going to.
Emily had second thoughts when she started getting ready for bed and spotted the battered copy of Mother Night on her nightstand, where she put it after reading to Grace the night before.
As upset as she was, would Grace be able to sleep? Reading to her before bed helped get Grace's mind off of everything that was troubling her and allowed her to get some sleep once before.
After a moment's hesitation, Emily picked up the paperback and made her way to Grace's room. She knocked lightly on the closed door.
When there was no response, Emily wondered if Grace was really asleep or just refusing to answer. There was only one way to find out, but what was the point of going in uninvited? If Grace was asleep, Emily wasn't going to wake her up. And if Grace just didn't want to see her or talk to her, then barging in would only result in another fight or argument, which certainly wouldn't help either of them get a good night's sleep.
Feeling defeated, Emily turned around and went back to her own room for the night. It felt like all of the careful progress she had made with her daughter in the last week had been un-done in the last thirty minutes. It was one step forward and now two steps back.
Grace wasn't asleep. She couldn't have slept if she tried. She was in bed, staring at the closed door and hoping Emily would go away and leave her alone. She didn't want to talk to Emily.
It took several minutes after Emily knocked for Grace to relax. If Emily was going to come in without permission, she would have done it by then. She must be gone.
Settling back into the pillows, Grace went back to wondering why Emily thought she needed therapy. That got Grace to thinking about why her caseworker thought she needed therapy back when she was still in foster care. The first time she ever saw a therapist was after she punched her foster sister in the face.
That was the last good foster home she was in. The parents, David and Lori Morgan, were both nice, but their daughter, Sarah, wasn't so nice.
Sarah was just jealous – that was what the therapist said anyway. But Grace didn't know why anyone would be jealous of her, especially not Sarah who was always reminding Grace that the parents were her parents and it was her house, not Grace's.
Grace knew she probably didn't help matters any by telling everyone that her dad was going to come back for her, but that was no excuse for Sarah to be as awful as she was. Even now, Grace remembered all of the terrible things that Sarah said.
"Where's your real dad?" Sarah had asked, barging into Grace's room after her.
Grace had just come in from the backyard, where she was kicking the soccer ball around with Mr. Morgan. When Grace went up to her room, Sarah followed her.
Grace just wanted to get out of her sweaty t-shirt and athletic shorts and go take a shower. Stiffening, she dropped her towel and turned to face her foster sister. "That's none of your business."
"You're in my house, stealing my dad," Sarah said in a snotty tone. "Where's your real dad, huh? Why can't he play soccer with you so my dad doesn't have to?"
"Maybe your dad would want to play with you if you were actually good at anything," Grace told her.
"At least my dad didn't leave me," Sarah shot back. "What happened? Your real dad didn't want to be your dad anymore, so he just left?"
"Shut up," Grace said, glaring at Sarah fiercely.
"No. I'm serious. You're always talking about him like he's so great. If he really loved you so much, then why doesn't he ever come see you?" Sarah asked tauntingly.
When Grace had nothing to say to that, Sarah knew she was right and continued gleefully.
"He left you, and all he left you with is that stupid necklace that you always wear. It's so pathetic. If I were you, I wouldn't wear it anymore," Sarah told her haughtily.
"Get out of my room," Grace said heatedly.
"Don't tell me what to do. This is my house," Sarah reminded her in that same haughty tone. "You're only here because your real dad left. I bet that necklace isn't even really from him. You probably just tell everyone it is so no one will know that-"
"Get out!" Grace yelled over her, now trying to physically shove Sarah out the bedroom door into the hallway.
"Not until you admit it," Sarah told her. "Your dad didn't want to be your dad anymore. Did he really give you the necklace or did you steal it?"
The entire time Sarah was talking, Grace had been trying to push and shove her out the door.
To retaliate, Sarah reached out to grab the four-leaf clover pendant and tried to rip Grace's necklace right off her neck.
When the clasp broke and the pendant fell to the floor, Grace gasped and stared at the broken necklace in horror, tears filling her eyes. And then, in her fury, Grace had reared back and delivered one solid punch, all her years of karate paying off when she heard the satisfying sound of her foster sister's nose breaking.
Sarah screamed bloody murder.
Mrs. Morgan came running up the stairs and found the two girls in Grace's bedroom.
"What is going on here?" She demanded. When she saw her daughter's tears and bloody nose, the mom looked at Grace with a mixture of shock and anger before advancing on her. "What did you do?" She grabbed Grace's shoulders, her nails digging into the little girl's shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents. Wincing, Grace squeezed her eyes shut as her foster mother continued to berate her. "Did you hit her? What is wrong with you?"
That was the only time Grace could ever remember being afraid in their house, and it was also her last day there. So much for being adopted.
Instead, after a hushed conversation with her caseworker that Grace caught bits and pieces of, Grace was sitting in the backseat of her caseworker's car with all of her stuff in a garbage bag. She had heard enough of their conversation to know her caseworker, Mrs. Morgan, and even Mr. Morgan thought there was something wrong with her and Sarah wasn't safe with Grace in their home. Mrs. Morgan said Grace needed serious help.
Apparently, that help came in the form of therapy.
From that experience, at a young age, the former foster kid deduced that therapy wasn't a good thing. It was where kids went when adults thought there was something wrong with them.
And, by that logic, it wasn't a good thing that Emily thought Grace needed therapy.
That was what was bothering Grace more than anything. Did Emily think there was something wrong with her? She must if she thought Grace needed therapy.
Grace hadn't punched anyone in the face lately. She didn't think she'd even done anything that bad in the time they'd been back in D.C. Sure, there had been some attitude, yelling and door-slamming, but if movies and TV shows were to be believed, that was all pretty normal for teenagers. What had Grace done to make Emily think there was something wrong with her?
Emily thought there was a lot wrong with her dad. Grace knew that from reading the profile where her mother described her dad as a power-assertive psychopath. The thirteen-year-old didn't know the true definition of a psychopath. To her, it was just another way of saying that her dad was crazy.
Emily probably thought Grace was crazy, too.
Emily said she didn't, but if that was true, then why was she making Grace go to therapy? Grace hadn't done anything.
Those were the thoughts and fears in Grace's head that kept her up most of the night, tossing and turning until it was time to get up for school.
Because she hadn't really slept, Grace was in an obviously bad mood when she emerged from her room in the morning. She barely touched her breakfast and snapped at Emily any time the woman tried to talk to her.
When she saw what kind of mood her thirteen-year-old was in, Emily decided to forego revisiting their conversation about therapy. Grace was in no better place to have that conversation now than she had been night before. The only mention of therapy was when she reminded Grace about her appointment while dropping her off at school.
"I know this isn't your first time in therapy," Dr. Helen Jensen began her first session with Grace once the girl was seated across from her in her office. "But do you have any questions for me?"
From where she was sitting, Grace had been looking around the office. She noted the diplomas hanging on the wall behind the desk, the framed photographs lining the desk, and the titles of the books on the bookshelf. When she heard what the woman said, Grace stopped what she was doing and looked at the therapist, eyes narrowing. "Did Emily tell you that it wasn't my first time?"
"Your previous therapist referred her to me," Helen explained.
"Does that mean you talked to Kara or got her notes or whatever?" Grace said, her posture relaxing slightly for the first time since entering the therapist's office. She was still tense, but she was no longer sitting almost unnaturally straight in her chair. "Then…you know I'm not crazy, right?"
"No one thinks you're crazy, Grace," Helen told her with a very faint trace of amusement in her voice.
"Emily does. That's why I'm here," Grace said seriously.
Helen just stared at Grace for a long second, waiting to see if she would expand on that. When she didn't, Helen questioned her gently. "Can you think of any other reason Emily might have wanted you to talk to me?"
"No," Grace said flatly.
Helen looked at her with a mixture of skepticism and disbelief. "You've had some painful experiences that you might not have had a chance to work through. And now you're suddenly living with your birth mother who you just met. Do you think Emily might have thought it would help you to have someone to talk to?"
"I already had a therapist," Grace said pointedly. "One I was actually comfortable talking to."
"Kara only works with kids in the foster care system," Helen told her.
"Who do you work with?" Grace asked her. She was starting to size this new therapist up. Maybe she had been doing that since the moment she first walked in, but now she wasn't even trying to hide it.
"Teens and their families," Helen answered.
"But technically you work for the parents. The teens aren't the ones paying you," Grace pointed out boldly.
She probably wouldn't have thought twice about how Helen was paid if it wasn't the whole entire reason Grace had to see her instead of Kara. If Kara worked for the government, who did Helen work for? Grace had concluded that Helen kind of worked for Emily. And if Emily was the one paying her, Grace wondered if that meant Helen would tell Emily everything that Grace said. That had never been a concern with Kara.
"Does it bother you that Emily's paying me?" Helen asked in response.
"No," Grace lied, looking away from the therapist's inquisitive gaze.
The thirteen-year-old was obviously trying to make a point or she wouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Helen regarded Grace curiously. "Do you know how much she's paying me?"
Grace's gaze returned briefly to one of the framed photographs sitting on the desk – a picture of a girl who looked to be a year or two younger than Grace and bore a strong resemblance to the therapist. The girl was sitting comfortably on a horse, wearing fancy riding clothes. It reminded Grace of The Saddle Club books that she read when she was younger. Grace snorted, scoffing, "Too much if your daughter has a horse."
"Two hundred and thirty dollars," Helen supplied.
It was only because she knew the therapist was looking for a reaction that Grace stopped herself from reacting to the dollar amount with shock. "Good for you," she told the therapist sarcastically, keeping up the pretense of being unaffected. Internally, she was balking at the idea of Emily spending that kind of money on something like this. How screwed up did Emily have to think she was to be spending literally hundreds on Grace's therapy? Doing quick math in her head, Grace figured out that if she had to come every week like she did when she was seeing Kara, Emily would be spending almost a thousand bucks a month.
Helen studied Grace, scrutinizing her closely. "Do you think Emily's stupid?"
"No," Grace said, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice. What was even more surprising was that she felt immediately defensive of Emily. Grace thought Emily was a lot of things - and not all of them were good - but Emily definitely wasn't stupid.
"If she's not stupid and she's paying me two hundred and thirty dollars an hour to talk to you, she must think I can help you," Helen reasoned.
"She thinks you can fix me," Grace corrected the therapist bitterly.
"Or maybe she thinks I can help fix your relationship with her," Helen suggested, deliberately giving the teenager a different way to look at things. "What do you think? Do you think Emily might want to have a better relationship with you?"
Grace didn't know what to say. She hadn't really thought about it like that.
When she thought back to her first experience with therapy, there was no fixing things with the Morgans. It was too late for that. Instead, it was all about fixing everything that was wrong with her. That was what Grace thought therapy was. The idea that Emily might be paying this woman two hundred and thirty dollars an hour to fix things between them was completely foreign to Grace – and also insane. Emily should save her money.
When the reticent teenager's expression became more speculative, Helen knew she was getting somewhere with her and continued down that path.
"It might be helpful for you to have someone that isn't biased to talk to as you explore your relationship with her," Helen said. "How many adults do you have in your life that care about you?"
"My caseworker, but it's kind of her job to care. And Emily says she does," Grace added almost as an afterthought, more because she felt that was the answer that the therapist expected of her than because she actually believed it. At the moment, she wasn't sure what to believe.
"You don't think she does?" Helen questioned without any judgment in her voice.
Grace's shoulders lifted and fell in an involuntary shrug that gave her uncertainty away. "I just don't really know her all that well yet," Grace said quickly before the therapist could read too much into it. She was trying her best to sound nonchalant.
"It's only been a few weeks," Helen empathized with her. "What was it like meeting her for the first time?"
Now, that was something Grace didn't mind talking to the therapist about because Emily was there, too. There was nothing the therapist could tell Emily that she wouldn't already know. And, even better, if Grace gave her enough detail, she could probably take up the rest of the time on this and not have to talk about anything else.
Speaking freely for the first time since sitting down in the therapist's office, Grace launched into the story of the first time she met Emily in an interrogation room in a Philadelphia police station.
Emily sat in the waiting room the whole time that Grace was back with the therapist. She brought a book to read, but she wasn't able to read more than a few pages at a time. She was too anxious.
Emily knew Grace was mad at her. She knew it, and she hated it. Ever since they talked the night before, Grace had barely spoken two words to her. The thirteen-year-old had maintained her sullen silence the entire drive from her school in Arlington the therapist's office in D.C. When asked a direct question about how her day was or if she had a lot of homework, Grace would answer, but she was as clipped and monosyllabic as ever. It felt like Emily was dealing with the version of her daughter that she met in Philadelphia – the angry girl who wanted nothing to do with her.
If it had been almost anything else undoing all of the progress they had made, Emily might have been willing to compromise, but Grace needed therapy. When she thought about everything the thirteen-year-old had been through, Emily knew she was doing the right thing.
It would have been traumatic enough just losing her adoptive parents when she was only six, but the way Grace lost them was terrible. Emily could imagine the girl's terror waking up when the house was on fire. Ian would have told her then that her parents were dead because it would make her more willing to go with him.
Although Emily knew Grace didn't think of what he did as kidnapping, that was exactly what it was. Ian Doyle took their daughter from her adoptive parents' house. Changing the little girl's name and keeping her in isolation was typical behavior for a kidnapper, not a parent.
When her team finally got Doyle, he never went home to the daughter that he had abducted. Grace didn't know what happened to him back then. The only thing she knew was abandonment.
Emily knew Grace hadn't talked about any of this with her previous therapist. Grace kept the truth about who her father was to herself until she finally told her best friend.
Now that his lies and manipulation were exposed, Grace was left to struggle with the truth about what kind of man the father that she idolized really was. It was a devastating truth.
And that was just what Doyle did to their little girl. Emily had no idea what Grace experienced in foster care, but being bounced around foster homes would have contributed to any abandonment issues that Grace already had, making it hard for her to form attachments. Emily saw that in her daughter's reluctance to get close to her or let her in. Grace didn't want to become attached to Emily.
As much as she may blame Doyle for this current mess, Emily knew she was partially to blame for any abandonment issues that her daughter had. She remembered something Grace had said to her the first night in the hotel in Philadelphia after being brought in by Emily's team…You didn't even like my dad. You didn't want to have a kid with him. News flash, Emily – I'm that kid…the same one you never wanted. You don't want to be my mother any more than I want to be your daughter so stop acting like you do.
Emily knew that just being given up for adoption could make children feel unwanted or abandoned. Having her own father whispering in her ear that Emily had never wanted her would have exacerbated any of those feelings in their little girl in a major way.
Yes, Grace had abandonment issues, but she also had trust issues. She had a lot of unresolved issues with both of her birth parents. Therapy was going to be critical if Grace was ever going to get past everything that was stopping her from having a good relationship with Emily.
Whether Grace liked it or not, she needed therapy.
Emily just hoped Grace wouldn't hate her for making her do this.
The wait was agonizing. Emily didn't know if Grace would come out of the therapist's office even angrier than when she went in or if the therapist would be able to get somewhere with her.
When the door opened and the therapist came out followed by Grace, Emily couldn't tell what Grace's state of mind was. The girl's unreadable expression didn't last long though. As soon as the other woman asked to speak with Emily privately, Grace started scowling darkly.
"Um, okay," Emily agreed with a hesitant glance at Grace.
"Don't worry about me. I'll just sit here while you talk about me," Grace said with an angry roll of her eyes, taking a seat in a random chair in the waiting room.
Helen looked at the teenager with a surprised expression. "I'm not going to tell Emily anything that you said to me. Anything you tell me is confidential unless you're a threat to yourself or someone else, and I don't think you are." She thought Grace would know that already since she wasn't new to therapy.
"Right," Grace said slowly, her skepticism evident to both of the older women. She was sure that if Emily wanted to know anything about the session, Helen would remember who was paying her.
Emily followed Helen back into her office. Once the door was shut behind them, Helen invited Emily to sit down.
"How did Grace react when you told her about this appointment?" Helen asked the mother.
"Not well," Emily muttered.
Helen offered her a small smile. "Most teens don't want to come to therapy. They come see me because the court ordered them to or because the school recommended it or because their parents made them."
"She's mad at me for making her do this," Emily said knowingly, realizing Grace must have told the therapist as much.
"Do you think she might be feeling anything else?" Helen questioned.
It was a leading question if Emily ever heard one, and she looked away as she thought about what Grace was feeling. "Well, she's mad at me," Emily said again, still stuck on that because it was bothering her. "But she's also hurt and confused."
"When we spoke on the phone, you said she's been through a lot of painful experiences," Helen acknowledged. "Even in a therapeutic setting, a lot of people are uncomfortable talking about their trauma, but that's especially true for teens. It takes time to establish trust and get teens to open up in therapy," she told the mother honestly. "That's why it can be helpful for adolescents to have a more tangible goal to start with. You told me on the phone that one of your goals for therapy was to help her adjust?"
"It is," Emily said with a brisk nod. "I just got custody of her."
"I think that's a good goal," Helen replied cheerfully. "And Grace should know what the goal is. It is her therapy."
"Yeah, well, her only goal was for you to tell me that she's not crazy," Emily pointed out skeptically.
"What does it tell you that she doesn't want you to think she's crazy?" Helen asked, zeroing in on that.
Emily hesitated. She had already given the therapist some basic information on Grace's background. Ian Doyle was an important part of Grace's history, and Emily had given some details but hadn't told the therapist everything. She took a deep breath before answering the question.
"Her father made her believe that I saw her as an extension of him. And he was a psychopath," Emily stated bluntly.
Helen looked at Emily in alarm. "Did you tell your daughter that?"
"No. Of course not. But her friend hacked into the file that my team at the FBI had on Grace's father. We're profilers. Grace saw the profile," Emily explained, shifting uncomfortably under the therapist's gaze. Weren't therapists supposed to be non-judgmental? It sure felt like this one was judging Emily right now. There was nothing Emily could do to stop Grace from seeing that profile.
Helen looked at Emily with raised eyebrows. "The profile where you labeled her father as a psychopath?"
"I didn't label him as a psychopath," Emily said tersely. "He was a psychopath. He killed a lot of people."
"And Grace thinks you see her as an extension of him?" Helen questioned.
"I don't," Emily told the therapist a little defensively. "But that's what he told her."
"It's a good thing that Grace cares what you think about her," Helen began cautiously. "From what I saw in our first session, she's got a mind that just doesn't quit. Do you know what that means, Emily? It means that if you don't sit down and talk to her about what the goal of all this is, she's going to come up with her own ideas about why she's in therapy. And with what you just told me, those ideas are not going to be good. Until you and I both establish trust with her, she's going to think the worst. We don't want her to think that, so it's important that you talk to her."
Emily did try to talk to Grace, and it backfired on her. She had even asked Helen's advice on how to talk to Grace about it when they originally spoke on the phone. The advice to not make a big deal out of it hadn't helped her much.
"How do I get her to listen to me?" Emily asked the therapist.
"Rather than focusing on your goals for her, you might want to try focusing on your goals for your relationship with her?" Helen suggested. "She might not always act like it, but if today proved anything, I think it proved that she does care what you think about her. And I know you care about her or you wouldn't be here."
A/N: Thank you for reading.
Grace's thoughts and feelings about therapy were my attempt at a kid who is barely thirteen's thoughts and feelings, not my own opinions. Her experience with therapy in foster care shaped her belief that going to a therapist could only mean there was something wrong with her. And she was extra sensitive because of that pesky profile where her dad was labeled as a power-assertive psychopath.
The memory of Grace and her foster sister was loosely inspired by a scene in Parenthood where Sydney is horrible to Victor and he throws a baseball bat. That was always going to be how Grace's four-leaf clover necklace broke.
