Divided Shadows_2

Part 15

Chapter 15

Dr. Whittaker’s words swirling in her mind for a couple of days after their conversation. The disappointment in the doctor's voice, the silent judgment from the footage, the sting of the Whittaker's words—a sign of mental deterioration—they cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She’d been holding on so tightly to her progress, but now it felt like the ground had been pulled from under her.

Was she really slipping back? Most night, as the institution fell into its quiet, Lotta lay in bed, clutching the blanket, feeling more isolated than she had in months. She closed her eyes, hoping for dreamless sleep. But what came was anything but peaceful.

Nightmare like demons invited themselves everytime she closes her eyes, there was a night were Lotta found herself in a cold, empty room, her breath visible in the chilly air. There was a mirror on the wall, cracked and darkened, and through its jagged reflections, she saw figures approaching. Angela, her face serene but her eyes filled with sadness, stood there, flanked by Iris, who wore a red lipstick smudged like blood. Both of them stared at her, silent and accusing.

“Why didn’t you help us, Lotta?” Angela’s voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed in the room.

Lotta’s heart pounded. “Angela, I tried… I did everything I could!”

But Iris spoke next, her voice sharp and echoing. “You didn’t believe me either. You left me alone. Just like everyone else.”

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls inching closer. She reached out to touch Angela’s hand, to say something that might make it right, but her hand passed through like mist. Angela’s face twisted into something unreadable, fading into shadow, while Iris’s eyes shone with a haunting emptiness.

Lotta jolted awake, covered in cold sweat, her heart pounding. The fear lingered, an ache that she couldn’t shake. She sat up, clutching her knees, feeling a deep sense of dread settle into her chest. Angela and Iris were gone, but they were haunting her like ghosts she couldn’t lay to rest.

The following morning, she found herself in Dr. Pierce’s office, sitting across from him with her gaze fixed on the floor, hesitant to meet his eyes. He’d noticed her tension, her silence. Gently, he encouraged her to talk, but Lotta hesitated, reluctant to let her guard down.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Pierce spoke. “Lotta, whatever’s weighing on you, it doesn’t have to stay locked inside. We’re here to help, and you’re not alone in this.”

Lotta felt her throat tighten. She didn’t want to trust him, didn’t want to believe that he could understand. But something in his voice—calm, patient, genuine—made her reconsider. She took a shaky breath and decided to speak, her words coming out in a slow, hesitant stream.

“I…I had someone I cared and lived for, Angela,” she started, her voice wavering. “She was… everything to me. She made me feel alive, gave me strength when I couldn’t find it in myself. But when she… passed, I felt like a part of me died with her.” She swallowed hard, the emotions catching in her throat. “Then Iris came along, and I couldn't bring myself to trust her. But then it was like… she was playing me. Like I was just stupid enough to fall for it again after Molly.”

Dr. Pierce listened, not interrupting, letting her words fill the space.

“Then she…she died, I felt like it what I went through with Angela was happening all over again,” Lotta whispered, her hands trembling. “I keep failing them, both of them, and I don’t know how to stop.”

Dr. Pierce leaned forward, his expression empathetic. “Lotta, you haven’t failed them. Losing people is hard, especially when you’re carrying so much guilt. But maybe it’s time to release some of that weight. It’s okay to let go of that responsibility.”

A silence settled between them, thick with unsaid words. Lotta realized for the first time that this was exactly what she’d been avoiding: allowing herself to feel the pain without hiding behind guilt or anger. She was terrified, but the vulnerability of speaking it aloud gave her a sense of strange relief.

Dr. Pierce offered a faint smile, something hopeful in his eyes. “Would you be open to something?”

Lotta nodded, almost instinctively.

“How would you feel about a supervised visit to Angela’s grave?” he asked, watching her carefully. “We could go together when you’re ready. I think it might help you find some closure.”

The suggestion startled her. The thought of going back there, standing by Angela’s grave after so long—it was terrifying, but something inside her shifted, an ache softening just a little. A chance to see her friend again, to say goodbye in the way she never could before. Maybe, just maybe, it could bring her some peace.

As Lotta left Dr. Pierce’s office, she felt raw but strangely lighter. The mention of Angela’s grave lingered with her, filling her with cautious hope. She didn’t know if she was ready, but the thought of seeing Angela’s grave again was something tangible, something that felt like progress.

The next few days, she moved with a new sense of purpose. She started small, joining yard activities again and managing to do do without feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. She sat by the windows in the common room, watching the sunlight outside, almost savoring it, letting it warm her from the inside.

She knew there would still be challenges, that healing wasn’t a straight path, but for the first time, Lotta felt like she had something to hold onto. Maybe she was closer to finding a way out than she’d thought—closer to honoring Angela’s memory without being consumed by it.

And for now, that was enough.