The lobby of the rehab center is surprisingly womblike. But the ambiance does nothing to help me process the thoughts that plague me. How I arrived is hardly remembered, though the keys in my hand tell I drove. I know Donovan's things were packed because I just handed a suitcase to a nurse. Traces of our life together were removed so Christopher doesn't walk into what he may perceive as hell. Beyond that, nothing is certain.

“Miss Beckett?” A short, well-groomed, upper-middle-aged gentleman with glasses and a dark mustache stands before me. His voice is delicate yet reassuringly strong. “I’m Dr. David Coe. It's nice to finally meet you in person. The nurse called me when your brother arrived last night refusing to talk to anyone other than the doctor his sister had been speaking to. I appreciate your faith, and Donovan obviously believes you don’t give it haphazardly. Please come with me.”