Apology

Chapter 1

Present Day

The stale air in the office seemed to thicken as Dr. Peters sat across from me, her hands clasped around a pen as she scribbled her notes on her pad with intensity. Her auburn hair was pulled back and secured with a hair clip, her green eyes were covered with over-sided prescription glasses, and her face was free of any makeup except for a nude lip gloss. She looked a lot younger than the previous shrinks. Out of the eight I saw before her, she was also the only female.

When I stepped into her office a few minutes earlier, my eyes scanned the room and took in every detail. A small mirror hung above a polished mahogany table, adorned with fake potted plants and LED candles. I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I walked in — my blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and hidden under a worn baseball cap. The dark circles under my blue eyes seemed even more pronounced in the reflection.

The bookcases towered around us, filled with rows upon rows of hardback books. Their spines were pristine and uniform, creating a judgmental atmosphere as they stared down at me.

On the walls hung various certificates and licenses, proudly showcasing her achievements. But her desk was a chaotic mess, papers, and folders scattered across its surface in disarray. She motioned for me to sit on the plush mahogany leather sofa, and as I sank into it, I couldn’t help but feel like I was disappearing into its softness.

Dr. Peters sat across from me, a table between us.

My heart pounded within my chest, its beat nearly audible as it throbbed against my rib cage. Desperate to calm myself, I clenched my hands together so tightly that my palms grew slick with sweat.

The heaviness of the past year felt suffocating as if it was choking out any hope for the future. I couldn’t escape its grasp, no matter where I went or what I did. Every moment of trauma still lingered, suspended in time as if it had just happened yesterday.

Michelle, she began cautiously, I understand this must be difficult for you. But part of my job is to help you find your way back to yourself.

I narrowed my eyes at her and sarcastically replied, That’s almost exactly what the last shrink said. When do we get to the part where you say ‘And how does that make you feel?’

Dr. Peters leaned forward in her chair. Handling emotional issues is never easy, she said after a pause. Everyone copes differently, at their own pace. There is no textbook way of handling these types of issues. What works for one person may not work for another.

I couldn’t help but scoff ironically before muttering under my breath, No shit.

She paused as if she was trying to choose her words carefully.

I can hear the anger and pain in your voice, she said softly, leaning forward in her chair. It’s completely understandable given everything you’ve been through. If you’re willing, I would like to help you process and cope with the PTSD and anger you’re experiencing…so that you can reclaim your life and begin to heal from the events of the past year.

I reached for a tissue from the table between us and dabbed at the fresh tears that flowed. Okay…but before we continue, can we establish something first? I asked, my voice shaking with emotion.

Of course, Dr. Peters replied calmly, pen poised over her notepad.

Can we skip the part where you pretend not to know who I am or the massive amount of bullshit that happened to me? You’d have to be living on the moon to not have heard about everything. I mean, it’s been all over the news and social media. It kills me how everybody is suddenly a fucking detective and knows what happened better than I do. My last therapist tried to act like he had no idea who I was, which just pissed me off even more. The other’s were no better, I gritted my teeth in frustration.

And then there’s that whole book thing. One of them wrote a fucking book about me without my consent and added shit that never even happened. I guess you gotta do that to sell books, regardless of the pain it may cause people, right?. I thought there was supposed to be some ‘Confidentiality Clause’ or something when it came to shrinks and patients. The memories flooded back, and hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

Dr. Peters gently handed me a fresh tissue as the emotions overwhelmed me.

I’m sick of it all! People, places, everything. I see the stares. I hear the whispers. I can’t even go to Starbucks without people staring at me with pity or suspecting that I killed my own mother. Do you know how fucking sick and twisted it is to think I would kill anyone, especially my own mother?

As Dr. Peters sat in her leather armchair, her posture radiated professionalism and a hint of warmth. She looked over at me through black-rimmed glasses, studying me intently. The silence stretched between us, the only sound coming from the ticking clock on the wall.

Michelle, she began softly, breaking the stillness. I understand how difficult this has been for you. I also understand the distrust you have. Her voice was calm and soothing, but I could detect a hint of concern. But, if you allow me, I would like to help you work through your trauma.

She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. And yes, I am well aware of what the news and social media have reported. Loch Levin is a small town, after all. It would be hard not to hear about your ordeal. But, I am here with an open mind, and my only concern is your well- being.

My vision blurred as small droplets gathered in the corners of my eyes, reflecting the light coming through the window. I wiped them away quickly before they could fall.

Michelle, she said, leaning forward in her chair. I also need you to come in with an open mind. Her pen and notepad sat waiting on the coffee table between us.

I understand the apprehension and anger you have. I want to help you process those emotions and move toward healing. We can talk about anything you want to and at the pace you feel comfortable with.

Her genuine concern shone through her eyes, making me believe that she truly wanted to help me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.

After a few moments, I opened my eyes and met Dr. Peters’ gaze again. My hands shook as I fidgeted on the sofa, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

I’ve become a fucked up ball of mess. I can’t sleep. I rarely eat. I think I lost maybe twenty pounds over the past year. I’m afraid to go out, afraid to stay in. I thought about just leaving this fucked up place, but as they say, ‘Wherever you go, there you are’ or some shit like that.

I wiped away the fresh tears and met her gaze.

She exhaled before leaning forward and saying, Do you believe that I am here to help you?

I shrugged my shoulders. I guess. If I’m being honest, I think you probably want to help, but I think I’m too far gone..

And why would you think that?

Because there were eight people before you and nobody helped. I guess they tried the best they could, but here I am- still me and just as fucked up as I was a year ago. Actually worse I think.

Dr. Peters sat silently for a moment before asking me if I thought I was beyond help.

I don’t know, but it feels like it. Nobody I saw before made a difference. I’m still sleeping with the lights on. Still having panic attacks. Still..stuck.

Dr. Peters nodded and then said something that gave me pause.

Why don’t you tell me about your radio show, Apology. How did that come about?

I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself before responding. I slowly inhaled, focusing on my racing heart rate as it gradually returned to its natural rhythm.I was thrown back into the moment Amber had suggested the idea for ‘Apology ‘ — a radio segment where people could anonymously call in and apologize for trivial things.

Her enthusiasm was contagious as she proposed the idea to pitch to Tommy, our producer. We quickly mapped out a plan — from the music that would play in the background to weekly social media posts. Tommy loved it and approved to begin airing the segment on Friday and Saturday nights between 8 pm and midnight.

We thought this time slot would be filled with humorous mishaps, such as someone stealing a person’s parking spot before they could park, or taking a coworker’s lunch.

We hadn’t anticipated Brandon’s call — an apology that revealed something much more sinister than any of us had expected. Taking a few moments to prepare myself mentally, I met Dr. Peter’s gaze.

It was about a year ago, I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter 2

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, its golden rays peeked through the windows of our quaint townhouse. With its charming split-level design and cozy atmosphere, it had been love at first sight when Joe and I moved in five years ago.

Located in a quiet and well-maintained neighborhood in Loch Levin, it was the perfect place for us to start our life together. Upstairs, our bedroom was adorned with warm hues of orange and red as the sun continued to set. Downstairs, our guest room was ready for any visitors who came to stay.

Tonight was a rare occasion where Joe didn’t have to rush off to work. Ever since he was promoted to detective last year, his job kept him constantly on-call, leaving me alone at home most nights. But not tonight.

We had dinner reservations in less than an hour, and I couldn’t decide on what to wear as I rummaged through my closet.Stress prickled under my skin as I grabbed dress after dress from my closet, discarding them onto the floor with growing frustration.

Finally, I settled on a deep blue dress that hugged my curves and made me feel confident. I turned from side to side in the full-length mirror in the bathroom and smiled. I only needed to apply a little makeup I was ready.

C’mon Babe, you’ve been in there forever. I’m starving over here.

I peered out from the bathroom, my gaze landed on him sprawled across our rumpled bed. His piercing green eyes locked onto mine and smiled. He looked incredibly handsome in a sharp tan suit and perfectly brushed back brown hair. He also had an unmistakable air of impatience on his features.

I walked into the room and placed my hands into his, and he raised off the bed, locking eyes with mine.

It’s not often that I get to dress up anymore, I said with a smile. I want to look perfect tonight.

Joe rolled his eyes and pulled me into a kiss. What’s the point? You’ll be out of it as soon as we get home.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck. Is that a fact, Detective Silva?

Yes, ma’am. By my estimate, you’ll be naked in about two and a half hours. Give or take a few minutes. He paused before whispering in my ear, How about we skip dinner and go straight to dessert at home?

I playfully swatted his arm and returned to the bathroom to put on my makeup. Oh no, buddy. You promised me a night out and that’s what we’re doing.

As he pretended to pout and walked downstairs, I frantically searched for my pink makeup bag. It wasn’t in its usual spot on the counter or under the sink. Frustration crept into my tone as I called downstairs.

Babe, have you seen my pink makeup bag?

Hmm, I don’t know Honey. Where did you last have it?

If I knew where I last had it, I wouldn’t have asked you.

I thought back, trying to remember where I had put it last. But my mind drew a blank — I always put it back in the same spot after using it.

I rushed down the stairs and met Joe, who was standing in the entryway with a strained expression.

I think I left it in the car, I said, already turning to head outside.

Joe groaned as he watched me grab my keys and step out the front door.

You’re a knockout for Christ’s sake. Why do you need to put makeup on? he called after me.

I ignored him and pressed the key fob, unlocking my car. After rummaging through my front and back seats, I sighed in frustration and opened the glove compartment, knowing it was a long shot. As expected, it wasn’t there.

Dammit, I muttered, leaning against my car.

But then I remembered something. Last night, we went to Starbucks before coming home. Maybe I left it there?

I ran over to Joe’s blue Ford F150 and peered through the window. My heart leaped when I saw it sitting on the passenger seat. Smiling, I hurry back inside.

Found it!

Thank God, Joe breathed a sigh of relief.

Can you unlock your truck? It’s on your passenger seat.

With a huff, he walks outside. From behind me, he pressed the key fob, and unlocked the doors. I ran over to his truck and swung open the door, reaching for my bag. But then something else caught my eye behind it — a black hairband?

Puzzled, I picked it up and realized it wasn’t a hairband at all. Tears burned my eyes as I turned to face Joe.

What’s wrong? he asks, placing his hands on my waist.

I couldn’t speak, but just hold up what I had found in his truck - a woman’s lacy black thong underwear.

Confusion quickly turned to hurt as Joe’s face fell. Babe…I can explain, he stammers.

Tears streaked down my cheeks, through gritted teeth I said, Please don’t try to tell me that you’re a cross-dresser…

My screams echoed through the quiet neighborhood, and I could feel my neighbors’ curious stares. We were forced to go inside, but I couldn’t stand being near him. His presence made me sick with anger and betrayal. But at the same time, I needed answers-who was she, when did it happen, and how many times?

Joe sat across from me in his brown lounge chair, head bowed and hands tightly gripping the back of his hair. I glared at