Normally when something traumatic happens in any given teenager's life, they feel the need to go out and do something drastic. Shoplifting, binge drinking or eating, drugs, or cutting themselves were all contributing factors to the traumatic. I didn't do any of those things, as I am not any given teenager, yet I've had trauma in my life before.

After school the following Tuesday, I went downtown and into a huge office building that seriously reminded me of Grey House in Fifty Shades of Grey, since both were in Downtown Seattle, and resembled something along the lines of an imposing fortress. I had managed to do some research over the weekend and found a therapist to discuss my issues and things like that named Dr. Erin Maxwell, who had credentials from Columbia University and the University of Washington in psychology, child psychology, and general psychotherapy.

"Jenny Melinsky," I said, giving my name at the desk.

The plump redhead behind the desk nodded and handed over some annoyingly customary forms for me to work through in the twenty minutes I had before my appointment. I filled in such things as my name, address, birth date, social security number, hobbies, where I went to school, and why I thought I was really here in the first place. I scrawled everything down with the provided purple pen, and, exactly eighteen minutes later, Dr. Maxwell came out to see me.

"Jenny?" she asked, smiling.

I looked up. "Here," I said, throwing my hand up like I was in a classroom or something and gathered my things as I followed her back into her office, which overlooked the Sound and the buildings all around us. I handed over the forms and sat down on the upholstered chaise lounge provided. "I'm sure it has everything..."

Dr. Maxwell smiled, nodding. "I'm sure it does." She had natural platinum blonde hair and kind blue eyes; she was in her mid-thirties, and a vintage wedding ring was on the third finger of her right hand. Her waist was a little thickened, probably due to at least two pregnancies. I pictured her husband was a doctor, too, named Theo Maxwell, and specialized in cardiology.

He'd brought her home for Christmas one year and all of his family had fallen in love with her as he had. Then he'd asked for his great-grandmother Ruth's wedding ring from his mother, Greta, and he'd proposed on Christmas, with the whole family in the next room, their ears pressed up against the door so as they could hear her acceptance of the proposal. Then, following the customary Christmas ham, Erin White (the maiden name I'd selected for her) would feel complete and happy.

Dr. Maxwell was scanning my bio section on the forms I'd signed, her eyes widening with sadness. "Jenny, you've written here that your mother passed away when you were twelve?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes," I said tightly. "She was in a car accident. She was coming home for Christmas to surprise us."

"Who's 'us'?" Dr. Maxwell asked gently.

"Me and my younger sister, Georgie. She's fourteen now."

"Well," she said, making a note of it on her rather large notepad, "that must have been very traumatic for you."

I sighed. "You've no idea."

"And you're fifteen now?" she asked.

"Yes. But I'll be sixteen on November twenty-seventh."

Dr. Maxwell smiled. "Fifteen it is, then," she said politely. "Well, let's begin," she said, filing my forms away in a file folder with the words CLIENT: JENNIFER MELINSKY on it. "We'll start from the now and work our way back; it's how I do things around here. You've written in your bio about your father getting re-married to one of your librarians at your school. How does that make you feel?"

I sighed. "Angry," I replied. "He didn't tell us... Not any of it."

She nodded. "Of course. A new woman in your father's life would typically make anyone angry, and you're not exception. You feel that your mother was taken from you far too early, and now you're afraid that this new woman in your father's life—his fiancée—will attempt to take her place. Is that correct, Jennifer, or am I way off base?"

"Correct...and it's Jenny," I replied, nodding to the file folder.

"Sorry," Dr. Maxwell said, making a note to change my name on the file folder and a mental note to call me by what I considered to be my correct name from then on. "Well, Jenny, what was your first impression of Charlotte Derby? When did you meet her?"

"September of 2011," I said softly, bringing myself back to that day. "It was my first day of high school and I was early to class, so I decided to explore my new high school. We had a grand tour on orientation day—the day before—but we hadn't really gone inside anywhere. I managed to find the library and went in. For some reason I was drawn to the FICTION AND LITERATURE section and, while there, I first met Charlotte..."

Dr. Maxwell nodded, taking in my every word. "And what happened? Did she seem threatening or condescending in any way? Was there anything about her that made you even remotely uncomfortable? Men are sometimes blindsided by their children's feelings because they only see the solution to what they see as the main problem: fixing their happiness. Unfortunately, many mothers and fathers are led astray because of what they perceive to be ultimate happiness for everyone, when in fact that are merely only looking out for themselves, unconsciously in most cases."

I sighed. "No," I replied. "Miss Derby—Charlotte was very helpful; she even checked out a book to me. She didn't seem threatening or condescending in any way; she informed me that she'd heard about my mother's death and how sorry she was..." I broke off, my voice trembling as tears coming to my eyes. "I suppose the main thing here is betrayal..."

"Betrayal? From Charlotte?" asked Dr. Maxwell.

"No," I said softly. "From Dad..."

"Why do you feel betrayed by your father?"

I lowered my eyes. "Because he didn't tell me, or Georgie," I replied in a broken voice.

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know.

I lowered my eyes, slightly shifting myself so as I could gaze outside her window at the Sound. "He's this hot-shot attorney and he works these killer hours all week, every week. Nine to five Monday through Thursday; then on Fridays he goes to New York with his business partner and they're in meetings all day and night until Sunday night when they catch a red eye back here. As a result, I've had to become Georgie's mother..." I put my face into my hands and sobbed, not knowing what else to do.

Dr. Maxwell nodded, handing me a tissue. "You must feel just devastated that your father wasn't respectful of your feelings. It seems to me that, in order to cope with the grief he inevitably felt at your mother's death, that your father worked—kept busy, if you will—in order not to think about it; and then, one day, he walked into Charlotte's life. She must have seemed like a breath of fresh air to his cobwebbed-filled subconscious, and he must have felt drawn to her, and she to him. I think it would be best if you spoke to Charlotte, try to set things straight."

"I don't understand..."

"Explain to her that you've stepped into this motherly role with Georgie for the past two years, wholly, and without a break, and that you're unsure of where to go from here. Perhaps you want merely a motherly figure, and not an automatic replacement from the mother who was snatched away from you. Don't fret; she sounds like a lovely woman, Jenny."

"Dr. Maxwell...?"

"Yes, Jenny?"

"I'm scared..."

She nodded. "We all fear the unknown," she replied.

I returned home after my appointment with Dr. Maxwell, thankful to have made a second appointment for the following week. I found Charlotte, who had moved in over the weekend, sipping a cup of tea in the kitchen, Wolfgang in her lap. I almost smiled back automatically when she first saw me, although I was tempted to snatch my dog away from her. Almost. I kept my eyes down and retrieved a cup of strawberry yogurt from the refrigerator, eating at it slowly. It was now or never...

"Charlotte?"

She turned to look at me, almost as if she was surprised that I was actually talking to her. Her pale brown eyes took me in, almost as if she was trying to guess what I was thinking. "Yes, Jenny?"

I sighed. "I guess...I'm angry," I replied.

Charlotte put down her cup of tea and gave me a perplexed look. "Why? I know this is happening quickly, but—"

"I had a mom already, and I don't want another one!" I burst out, which sent Wolfgang scurrying to another room. I didn't know how else to put it, but it had to be said. I felt my hands shaking, and I knew it was only a matter of moments before I would burst into tears for the second time that day, so I quickly averted my eyes.

Charlotte crossed the kitchen towards me, taking the yogurt from me. "I know how you feel," she said quietly.

"How?" I demanded, looking up at her through my veil of tears. "How could you possibly know how I feel?"

Charlotte sighed. "Because, my life was just like yours."

"Yeah, that's easy to believe," I replied sarcastically, sliding up onto the kitchen counter.

"It was," Charlotte said patiently. "I had a father who worked all the time, and a mother who was perfect. And then, one day, after walking me to school, she was reported missing. The police found her body soon thereafter, and this lady from across town, Minnie Travers, who was in her early twenties, seemed to be at my dad's side for weeks afterwards and, just six months later, they were married."

I felt a knot beginning to form within my stomach.

"With Dad working long hours at the bank, I was left in Minnie's care, before the babies came," Charlotte continued. "When I was ten, my twin brothers, Stanley and Daniel, were born. Then, a year later, my baby sister, Stella, came along. To cope with the stress of rearing four children, Minnie would beat me within an inch of my life. It was a terrible, devastating time in my life, until finally, when I was fourteen, social services stepped in," she went on, this time her voice full of relief.

I was relieved for her, hoping that the despicable woman that had beaten her head wound up in a prison cell.

"Stanley and Daniel were promptly adopted, and then Stella was adopted as well. I was fostered for three months, and then a wonderful couple adopted me, too—which was considered rare, as most families want babies or children that are very young. That's how I got the name, Charlotte Derby, named for their favorite author. My name originally was Paula Downs, but that was quickly remedied. I never much liked that name 'Paula', you know what I mean? It felt as if the parents naming the child were hoping for a boy, yet got saddled with a girl..."

I felt myself come undone then. I couldn't believe it. Charlotte had been a victim—a survivor!—of child abuse. I remembered first hearing of the term my freshman year, in a child development class where we were required to read the memoir, A Child Called 'It', which had brought me to sniffling sobs during class time.

"I'm...sorry..."

Charlotte smiled a sad smile. "I don't want to replace your mother," she assured me. "Don't worry; it would never come to that. But...would you be willing to be my Maid of Honor? Georgie has consented to be my Bridesmaid and I thought..."

I smiled a small smile. "Yes, I'll do it."

"And your father and I are going to Paris for our honeymoon. It coincides with your Christmas break, so you and Georgie are going with us."

I gasped. "Paris?!" I cried.

Charlotte chuckled. "The one and only," she replied.

In the coming weeks, I familiarized myself with the various tasks expected of a Maid of Honor. Thankfully, with my father's credit card, I was able to do so much. Charlotte and Dad had no idea where to tie the knot but, after a little research, I found a place called Thornewood Castle, located in Lakewood, which was a city just north of Tacoma. I made the reservation for December twelfth, which was one day after Georgie's and my school vacation began. Charlotte and Dad approved the location and then it was November, and high time for my next birthday.

I was presented with a set of keys that year, and my gift was revealed to be my dream car—a silver 2014 Volvo S60. I couldn't believe it! I even kissed Charlotte in happiness as I got behind the wheel, relishing the custom-made cream leather interior. I drove around and around the city, Darcy sitting next to me and Georgie in the back seat. I'd given Darcy my old car with permission all around, and informed her that, since she paid me in friendship and since my old car was her dream car, that she wouldn't be required to pay me. Darcy smiled and gave me my gift—the latest Dell laptop—which made me very happy.

The following day, Charlotte, Georgie, and I went to The Princess Bridal Shop and a kind young woman named Heather, with her associates, Bertha and Wendy, assisted us. Charlotte decided on a strapless white ball gown with a long train, made from silk and satin. Her veil and shoes matched, and she would wear a diamond necklace and earrings, custom-made by my father's jeweler for the occasion. Her auburn hair would be piled high on her head, and her veil would be clipped to the back of it.

Georgie would be wearing a bright pink dress that accentuated her curves perfectly, and I knew would get a raised eyebrow from Dad. It was strapless as well, cut into a tea-length fashion and had a dusting of faux pearls on the bustier area. Her shoes were heels which strapped up a bit past her ankles, and were an attractive choral color.

My dress was floor length, and had a mermaid cut skirt. It was a lovely forest green color and went well with my eyes. I would wear forest green flats with my dress and emerald jewelry, in contrast to Charlotte's diamonds and Georgie's choral beads. Heather and her two assistants praised our beauty, and complimented on how lovely we looked. Charlotte then informed them that we'd take it all, save for a few alterations that could be done later. Heather rang us up and we were on our way.

Charlotte drove Georgie and me to a lovely bistro called The Blind Pig, which was located in the Eastlake area of Seattle, where we were placed in a booth where the maître d seated us. Going over the menu, we all decided upon small salads and various Paninis. It was decided that Charlotte would have a Reuben with a bleu cheese salad; Georgie would have a Club with a garden salad; and I would have a roasted chicken with cheddar with a Caesar salad.

I chewed my salad slowly, watching from across the table how easily Georgie was coming to accept Charlotte. It's not that I hated the woman; I had never hated the woman. I remembered something my mother said at that moment: Actions speak louder than words. Part of me knew that I had nothing to be afraid of with Charlotte, as I'd spoken to Dr. Maxwell about in the last few weeks I'd been seeing her. While Dr. Maxwell explained to me that I wasn't wrong for wishing to preserve the memory of my mother, or being more than a little offended for not being included in introductions, so to speak, of Charlotte into our family, it was always good to give people a second chance when they deserved it. Charlotte, it seemed, was more than a deserving person to deserve a second chance.

After our salads and our Paninis, the maître d asked if dessert would be in order. Charlotte enthusiastically answered yes, and I knew that she and I were definitely on the same page. She ordered crème brulee, Georgie ordered a sundae, and I ordered chocolate cake. I savored the moistness and the chocolaty flavor, knowing that the former adjective was only okay to say when it was about cake.

We drove home that afternoon and arrived just as we saw Dad standing outside, speaking to a man who was dressed to the nines. This man held a "For Sale" sign under his arm, and Dad was pointing somewhere, just to where our lot ended and community property began. Georgie and I watched as the man nodded and stuck the stake of the real estate sign into the ground, just as my sister and I clambered out of the car.

"Dad, what's happening?" Georgie demanded.

"Dad, please explain," I continued, tapping my foot.

Dad grinned at the two of us. "Charlotte and I have bought a house in Richmond Beach," he said proudly.

I blinked. Richmond Beach was a gated community about twenty minutes north of where we lived. My mother had always hated gate communities, claiming more than once to Georgie and me that they were unnatural. She would say that they reminded her of would-be southern plantations and that the real estate agents were prejudiced and that they would only want to sell to white families. I knew that, being white, Mom was simply rebelling against her strict Roman Catholic roots. She had become an atheist in college, after meeting Dad.

"Richmond Beach?" Georgie asked with delight, who had a few friends that I knew of who lived in that neighborhood. "Really? When?"

Dad smiled at her enthusiasm as he put an arm around Charlotte, holding her against him. "Well, we thought as soon as possible. As soon as we get an offer, which could be at any time. It's a wonderful location, our house, and we're not asking too much for it. For the right buyer, anything is possible..."

I nodded, excusing myself and heading inside. I crawled onto my window seat and pulled my knees up towards my chest. I watched as Georgie talked and laughed with Dad and Charlotte. The three of them seemed so happy together, and I knew that I had to get out. I grabbed my cell and pressed the '3' button and waited for it to ring—three times.

"Hello?" answered Dr. Maxwell.

"Hey, Dr. Maxwell, it's Jenny..."

"Well, hello, Jenny," she said pleasantly with a hint of surprise. "Is everything all right? Do you need to come in?"

"Yes, please," I said.

"Wonderful. I had a cancellation this afternoon."

I said I could be there in half an hour, and I got up and immediately grabbed my keys and a sweater. I yanked on a pair of socks and my sneakers and darted out the back door, just as everyone was coming inside what would soon not be our house. I made my way around to the garage and went inside the side door, climbing into my car quickly. I opened the garage and backed out, closing it behind me as I sped down the street towards Downtown, ignoring my phone as it proceeded to buzz incessantly, knowing full well it was Georgie. Rain quickly began to splatter upon my windshield as I navigated my way through traffic, eventually arriving at Dr. Maxwell's office.

The secretary buzzed Dr. Maxwell as soon as I walked in, and she came out directly to fetch me. I walked through the back hallway, past the two or three other offices that surrounded us, and thanked her as she allowed me into her office first. I sat down upon the chaise lounge and bit my lip, turning away from her as I stared out her massive window at the other massive buildings around us and the Sound beyond. We sat in silence for a few minutes before she shifted in her seat, and I knew that the time to talk was now.

"Would you like something to drink?" Dr. Maxwell asked, turning to her mini fridge beside her desk.

"My dad said we were moving today," I said by way of reply.

Immediately, Dr. Maxwell grabbed her pad of paper. "And how did that make you feel?" she asked, beginning to scrawl various notes and things. "I must say that I would have felt devastated in that situation. You must feel a lot of mixed emotions right now."

"I feel like a mixed bag," I admitted, laying my head down on the couch and staring up at the white-washed ceiling. The multiple black and white still-life's of various flowers and other kinds of plants on Dr. Maxwell's wall would have normally been comforting, but I needed a blank canvas on a day like this. I just didn't know what I was feeling at the moment.

"Good for identifying the complexity of your feelings," Dr. Maxwell said, continuing to scrawl down notes. "Do you think that it has to do with the memories you felt in that house?" she asked. "Do you think that you're betraying your mother by moving out?"

"I guess, both," I replied, lowering my eyes. "Dad just announced that we'd be moving to Richmond Beach..."

Dr. Maxwell nodded. "I remember you telling me of your mother's aversion to gated communities," she said softly. "How did that make you feel when he first announced it?"

"Terrible," I admitted.

"Was it just out of the blue? Was he even hinting at it before now?" she wanted to know.

"No," I said softly. "I mean, we're going to Paris with them for their honeymoon, but nothing like..." I shook my head, making an effort to attempt to clear it. "Nothing like this."

"Your father seems to be doing a lot of things without consulting you lately," Dr. Maxwell said.

I picked my head up. "I'm starting to sound like a wife, aren't I?"

Dr. Maxwell smiled. "Well, you certainly have been the main caregiver of the child in the family," she replied. "But, as the former lady of the house, I suppose a decent conversation about potential changes would have been in order."

I shrugged, wondering why I felt this way. "I guess my dad thinks it's okay because we have Charlotte now..."

"I hear you defending your father to me," Dr. Maxwell said, continuing to scrawl down notes on the formally blank canvas in front of her. She was very perceptive, and I was pleased that I'd selected her. "Do you want to tell me about that?"

I sighed. I knew exactly what I was doing. Well... "I guess it's because I miss Mom so much that... That I'm afraid that if I get him too angry, that he'll leave too...or send me away..."

"From everything you told me, I gather your father loves you and Georgie very much, and only wants the best for you. I just think he's having some difficulty organizing his priorities right now."

I sighed. "Should I...tell him how I feel?"

"That would be a good beginning," she replied. "Just don't try to lose your temper or anything like that. Do your best to remain calm. Lay out all your cards on the table. Speak from fact; never sway from fact."

I nodded. "Okay," I replied. After another twenty minutes, I decided that I'd taken up enough of Dr. Maxwell's time, so I politely excused myself. I went up front and paid for the session before walking down the main hallway and going down the floors to the parking lot. I got into my car and locked the doors. I placed my forehead up against the steering wheel, the leather material cool on my hot head. I felt the tears come and I sobbed and sobbed, wondering where I could possibly go from here.

I arrived home and found that Charlotte and Georgie had gone to see a movie, and that Dad was in the study. I made a grab for Wolfgang and walked into the room, where he was furiously multi-tasking between writing emails and arguing with some DA on the telephone. He motioned for me to sit down and to wait for him, feeling like some unimportant client as I held Wolfgang in my lap, sitting in the edge of that god-awful green leather couch.

Finally, he managed to come to an understanding with the DA, and got to the end of his email, and hung up the phone and shut his laptop. He gave me a smile, hands clasped beneath his chin, and looked at me with those hazel eyes I'd inherited from him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of my eldest daughter's company?" he asked.

I sighed. "Just came from Dr. Maxwell's."

He turned back to the documents and files on his desk, almost as if he anticipated that the conversation would be boring. "And how is she this rainy afternoon?"

"Fine." Dammit, Melinsky, it's just your dad. Just talk to the man... "Dad, I have something I need to say."

"Go ahead," he said, never slowing his movements.

"I really hate how you're making all these decisions and not respecting mine or Georgie's opinion." There, I said it.

Finally, he broke away from his work, and raised his eyes to mine, as if he was attempting to assess my feelings. "You mean like my engagement to Charlotte and the house?" he asked, his thick brown brows quickly knitting together.

"Exactly," I replied.

"Well, I love Charlotte, Jenny. That's why I proposed to her, and that's why I'm going to marry her."

"It's not that," I reply. "I can see that you love Charlotte. I don't blame you or begrudge you for that. Charlotte's great. It's just that..."

"What?"

I sigh, trembling. "Did you love Mom?"

"Jenny..."

"No, Dad, answer the question," I say, before I lose my nerve completely. "Did you or did you not love Mom?"

"Jenny, stop it. You're getting into attack mode now."

I work hard to keep my tone in check. "I'm not trying to attack you or anything, Dad, but seriously, I want to know. You're almost never around, and when you are, you're holed up in here answering emails or going over depositions or something. I hate it. I hate it."

"Jenny..."

I ignore him. "I've had to raise Georgie for practically three years, and then suddenly this new woman marches in here and takes over. Not cool, Dad. I've worked too long and hard on Georgie to have someone take her away from me; I am the person raising her how Mom would have wanted..."

"You can't know that..."

"Can't I?" I demand, growing frustrated. "I brought her to school, I did the parent-teacher meetings—you even let me become her legal guardian almost a year ago when I turned sixteen because you weren't around, and god knows the amount of paperwork you had to sign... I did everything around here—all the laundry, all the housekeeping—and making sure that Georgie didn't screw up, and, on top of all that, I still managed to pull all A's in school, and even managed to get Georgie to do the same. I just...I don't understand why..."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dad demanded, putting on his lawyer voice; my loving, understanding dad was long gone, and in his place, the hot-shot lawyer for the people. "What do you want from me?"

"I want my father!" I said, feeling the lowest of the low at the tears spilled out from my eyes.

"Jenny..."

"No, listen to me!" I cry out.

"I'm trying to..."

"No, you're not!" I shout. "I want a family! I've been running myself ragged for years and I'm tired of it!" I got to my feet and, Wolfgang secure in my arms, stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

Charlotte was the one to check up on me when she and Georgie arrived back from the movies. She brought me a box of chicken and feta pizza and spoke to me in a soft and kind voice. She asked me if I wanted anything and I informed her that no one could give me what I wanted. I saw her nod like she understood and left me alone in the darkness with the pizza.