Dr. Okafor looked at me over her glasses.
“Well,” she said. “That’s a decent start.”
We went every week. Some weeks were good. Some weeks were terrible. Some weeks I got so angry I walked out halfway through and sat in my car in the parking lot and screamed into the steering wheel. Ben never followed me out. He just waited. Every single time, when I came back in, he was still sitting there.
In May, I moved back into the house with the blue door.
Not into our bedroom. Into the yellow room, the nursery, on a pullout couch next to Evelyn’s crib. Ben stayed in the master bedroom. That was my rule, and he never argued with it.
The first night back, I stood in the front yard looking at the spot by the mailbox where my clothes had been in trash bags. The grass had grown back. You couldn’t tell anything had ever been there.
