The Fortress at the Graveside

me one Friday evening, her eyes kind but direct. She told me I looked like someone carrying too much alone. She bought me a drink. Then another.

When I finally cried, it wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Controlled. Years of restraint finding a crack.

She handed me a business card.

“Even warriors need medics,” she said.

That sentence changed everything.

Therapy continue reading …