Chapter 1. Why are you here?

"Do you know who I am?" Grace Florrick said to her therapist. She had been in silence for almost a minute, just sitting on the therapist couch, trying not to flinch too much with her jewelry, trying to find the right words to explain why, at 34 years old, she was in therapy for the first time in her life.

"God, that sounded pretentious," Grace added. "I mean, do you have a context for who I am? It would be easy if you did. If I say: 'My dad did this' and you already know who my dad was"

Her therapist arched an eyebrow, doctor Anderson was in her 50's, with gray hair in a ponytail, kind eyes. She was highly recommended.

"Yes Grace, I grew up in Schaumburg. I'm aware of your family. And I know you're the State Attorney."

Grace nodded. "Alright. You don't have to tell me if you voted for me."

Her therapist continued "Is that why you are here Grace? To talk about your family?"

"Being honest, my husband told me to." The lawyer laughed. "No, no. He didn't order me to do it, he strongly suggested I should do therapy because he thinks I have unresolved issues."

"Oh" the doctor made the first note on her pad. "And you agreed with him?"

"I guess…Yeah."

"So you never done therapy before? Not even after your father's murder?"

Grace flashbacked to that night when she got the call from her stepmom, when her phone wouldn't stop ringing and getting top news: Former governor, Peter Florrick had been shot dead.

"No I didn't. Probably should've had." Grace shrugged.

"How did you cope with his murder?"

"I prayed." Grace observed the therapist, who didn't react to the statement, still, Grace wanted to explain. "Listen, praying is different for different people. Some people think it's begging God for something. For me it's about connecting with something bigger than you, bigger than your problems and that act of clearing your head. Do I make sense?"

"Yes, you do." Doctor Anderson made another note. "What do you want to talk about? What unresolved issues do you think you have?"

"I think I'm…" Grace once again was having a hard time explaining her feelings.

"Grace?"

"I think I bottled up a lot of emotions when I was younger and now they're all coming out." Grace looked down. "I always heard that once you have kids; you understand your parents better."

"You don't find it to be true?" The therapist asked when Grace didn't continue her thought. "Being a mother did change how I see the world but it didn't help me understand my parents better." Grace replied. "It made me understand them less and it brought back the bad stuff, the things I refused to think about. It made me resent them. Oh God. It feels so childish. I don't... I don't want to be ungrateful. I don't want to sit here as a grown woman and blame my parents for everything when they gave me everything. Everything one could ask for. A home, a good education, food on my table. Despite my mom's cries for being short on money, now I know the difference between being late on your Mercedes Benz payment and being late on your gas bill. I know how privileged I am."

"Privilege doesn't exempt you from tragedies or traumas."

"Traumas? No one hit me, no one abused me. I had a good childhood."

"Then when you speak of resentments, what do you mean?"

"Okay." Grace crossed her arms. "When Debbie, my daughter was born, friends and family visited me, it was a joyful occasion. Someone told me: 'Oh too bad Peter isn't here to see Debbie.' and my reaction was to think: 'Well I'm glad he's dead, because he was a fucking crook who ruined everything'...Sorry, I don't usually curse."

"Don't worry."

"I loved my dad, I miss him. And yet I have...this…hate in my mind, in my heart. I don't want to feel this way." Grace got choked up. "I don't want it to affect my daughter. I want to be better for her and for me. That's why I'm here, I want to let go."

"Okay, we'll start with your dad."