I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

” he snapped.

“It’s not that,” I said, gentle, careful. “It’s therapy. It’s help.”

“I don’t need help,” he said, pacing. “You need help. You’re the one who’s obsessed.”

I could have screamed.

Instead, I did something that felt like betrayal and salvation at the same time.

I called Dave.

He answered on the third ring, voice guarded. “Sarah?”

“I need you,” continue reading …