“Corinna Freeman.”

Standing, I grab my coffee and bag before following a casually dressed woman down a long hall in Greenwich Hospital. The appointment I’ve been dreading is here.

The psychologist.

I don’t need someone to poke in my brain other than with a scalpel. I don’t need them to tell me I’m hanging on to emotional scars from my teenage years. Shocker, I have mommy and daddy issues. Might come from them trying to sell me. I escaped, they died. I call that a win all the way around.

Why the hell am I here again?

As I follow the woman down the hall, I find one good thing about this appointment. They don’t take your height, weight, or blood pressure ahead of time. I snicker quietly.

“Right in here,” she says before she steps back to let me precede her. I’m surprised to find myself in a richly colored room with oversized armchairs and lots of throw pillows.

Hearing the door click shut behind me, I wander over to one of the pillows and murmur, “I think I saw this on sale at HomeGoods.”

I spin around when the woman who escorted me in chuckles. “You have a good eye. I couldn’t pass it up. There’s something about the fringe I just fell for.”

My jaw drops. “You’re the shrink?”

“Alice Cleary.” The woman who escorted me into the room holds out her hand, and I automatically take it. “If you’re surprised now, I have a feeling we’re going to have fun over the next few hours.”

“I think I’m going to need chocolate,” I mutter.

Cheerfully walking over to her desk, she pulls open a drawer. “Dive in.” I gape at the assortment of candy bars littering the inside of her drawer. Spying a bar of Godiva, I snag it. “Let’s get comfortable and talk about how today’s session is going to work. By the way, do you like music?”

Unwrapping the unexpected treat, I nod. “I do.”

Soft music begins to play in the background. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

Two hours later, I want to bring Alice home with me. “Gee, Corinna. There’s nothing on your mind at all,” Alice drawls as she makes notes on a legal pad. “Critical information was kept from you for over ten years, something that influenced the course of your life. Your boyfriend, the man you’re falling in love with, may have a half brother with someone who’s made your life a living hell. Oh, and you’re having brain surgery in less than three weeks.” Pausing, she looks at me, half-amused and half-astounded. “Got anything else stored up in there?”

I think about it. I really do. And then I just hand it over.

“I’m not sure which I’m more afraid of.”

“What’s that?”

“Dying or being trapped in the dark, unable to move because Bryan somehow fucks up what he considers”—I air quote—“easy brain surgery. I mean seriously? Is any brain surgery easy?”

“Idiot,” she scoffs. “I have this completely unprofessional theory. Want to hear it?”

Since Alice is my new BFF, I totally do. “Go for it.”

“Men have a Y chromosome. Therefore, as women, we get to ask ourselves why all the time. Why are they such dumbasses seems to be the leading question.”

I laugh hysterically. Definitely not what I expected to do in this office.

Alice sits straighter in her chair. “What you’re feeling right now is actually common before surgery.”

“I refuse to admit I’m common,” I drawl with a toss of my hair.

Chuckling, Alice continues. “It’s the loss of control. Almost all patients feel it regardless of the procedure. Normally, the doctors can reassure them. Despite what Dr. Moser implied, with a procedure as complicated as yours, we ask you to come to speak with us. Right now, your life is so far out of control, you need to get some of it back.”

“How?” I demand. I stand up, taking the pillow with the fringe I’ve been worrying with me. “How the hell am I supposed to control any of this?” Hurling the pillow across the room, I turn to find Alice smiling.

“That’s one way. Let loose the emotions choking you, good and bad. If you need to throw things to relax, go for it.”

“My sister gave me food to smash.” I remember Cassidy putting the grapefruits and tomato in front of me, and the sick pleasure I felt as I saw them splatter.

Alice chuckles. “Messy, but effective, certainly. Do you remember the endorphin kick you felt after? It’s counteracting the cortisol, the hormone associated with stress.”

Sliding back into my chair, I ask, “What else?”

“Deal with your issues head-on, Corinna. If you think you’ll feel better by preparing for your death, do it. Write letters to your family. Give them to someone you trust to be distributed in the event of something happening. Hell, write them letters for the day of surgery anyway. You’re going to be out of it for over eight hours. How do you think they’re going to feel?”

“Petrified.”

“Take back your power as a woman, as a sister, as a friend, and let them know you’re with them. Address their worries even as you address your own.”

It’s so simple, it’s brilliant.

I jump up and give her a huge hug. “I’m not kidding, Alice. Next time you need a cake baked for any reason after I’ve recovered, you’d better call me.”

“I’ll take you up on that because you’re going to recover, Corinna.” She pulls back. “Dr. Moser is going to get your tumor out, then you’ll recover. And then the world had better watch out for the formidable woman in its midst,” she predicts.

“And to think I was scared to come in today,” I say with wonder in my voice.

“People always are. It’s my job to make sure you’re not on the way out,” she schools me. “Did I do my job?”

“You definitely gave me something more productive to think about. That’s for sure,” I admit.

“Then I think we’re done. How about I drop by after surgery to check on you?” she offers.

With a better outlook than I’ve had in a long while, I say, “I’d like that. I’m sure my family would too.”

“I wouldn’t miss meeting them for the world. They sound fascinating.”

Deciding to take Alice’s words to heart, I make a detour on my way home from Greenwich and drive to Westport. Finding off-street parking, I make my way into Paper Source. I think about what Alice said about the time my family’s going to be sitting there waiting for me while I’m in surgery, and suddenly, I’m on a mission.

I find a stationery set with a black bear giving hugs, a set with sloths, and a set with peacocks. I immediately snag a set of cards with kittens giving each other a high five. I tear up when I pop the “I can’t imagine this day without you!” set in my basket. I grab a mini set of boxes of “I am thankful for…” cards when I see “The Future Looks Bright” set. In it goes. I’m spending a fortune, and I don’t care.

There isn’t an hour that’s going to pass where my loved ones are waiting for news where they won’t feel me with them in the waiting room.

Just as I’m about to head to the cash register to ring up my damage, I see it. Brown leather, wrapped with a matching tie closure. I pick it up slowly, feeling the soft pebbled leather against the pads of my fingers. Flipping it open, the cream-colored pages are begging for the things I’ve yet to tell Colby. I clutch it to me as I make my way to the register.

“Will this be debit or credit?” the bored after-school clerk asks me.

“Credit.” Pulling out my wallet, I pay the cashier, signing my name with a flourish. I take my bag and make my way to the door. Pausing before I walk out, I just have that sense of rightness about myself I haven’t felt in way too long.

I feel unconquerable.