Page 13 - DeepRestFlipFinal

DEEP REST
them all. She knew the theories, the mechanisms, the
cognitive behavioral techniques. She taught them. But
theory was a flimsy shield against the tidal wave of
grief and guilt that threatened to consume her.
The medication, prescribed by a well-meaning
colleague, sat untouched in her medicine cabinet. She
understood the side effects, the limited effectiveness,
the way it merely dulled the edges without truly
healing the wound. Mallory had been on everything.
And it hadn't saved her.
Evelyn ran a hand through her disheveled hair.
She hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Not real sleep.
Just a fitful, restless tossing and turning, haunted by
images of Mallory, by the phantom phone call, by the
endless loop of what if.
What if she had called Mallory that night? What if
she had noticed the subtle shift in her voice, the
tremor in her laugh? What if she had pushed harder,
demanded more, done something?
The guilt was a living thing, coiling in her gut,
tightening its grip.
She stood up, needing to escape Mallory’s room.
She walked to the window, pulling back the blinds.
The world outside was vibrant, oblivious. Children’s
laughter drifted up from the park across the street. A
delivery truck rumbled past. Life, in all its messy,
beautiful indifference, continued.
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