Domestic Chaos

**1 Week Later**

The therapist’s office smells like cinnamon. It kind of tickles my nose, reminding me of Christmas and Thanksgiving.

I sit, tucked into a large, pale pink armchair that squeaks every time I move, with my legs crisscrossed and my arms tight across my chest.

Her name is Bria, and she’s young. Maybe like in her late twenties. Her hair is dyed a soft cotton candy pink, the ends curl