In the afternoon, the trio, Amara, Leo, and Emery drove to the therapist Dr. Morgan.
The drive to the child therapist’s office was quiet and tense.
Amara sat in the back seat with Vaughn, her arm wrapped protectively around him as she tried to soothe his trembling body.
Vaughn clung to her side, his small fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, his eyes wide and haunted.
Leo drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, while Emery sat beside him in the passenger seat, her expression filled with a mixture of hope and dread.
They had all agreed this was the right step, but now, as they approached the office, they felt little stress.
The therapist’s office was in a quaint, unassuming building.. its exterior designed to be inviting rather than clinical, with pastel colors and soft, welcoming lines.
Amara led Vaughn inside, holding his hand tightly, while Leo and Emery followed closely behind.
The waiting room was calm, decorated with warm lighting, shelves filled with colorful children’s books, and walls adorned with cheerful paintings.
But none of it seemed to make a difference to Vaughn, his eyes were blank, his body tense as he pressed closer to Amara, refusing to let go.
The therapist, a kind-faced woman in her late thirties named Dr. Morgan, greeted them warmly. She had a gentle smile, her eyes understanding behind the thin frames of her glasses.
She knew what this kind of trauma looked like, and she approached slowly, giving Vaughn the space he needed to feel safe. “Hello, Vaughn,” she said softly, crouching down to his level. “My name is Dr. Morgan. I’m really glad you came to visit me today.”
Vaughn didn’t respond, didn’t even look up from the floor. His grip on Amara’s hand tightened, and his small body pressed further into her side as if seeking refuge from a world he no longer understood.
Amara’s heart broke a little more at the sight, but she forced a smile, trying to encourage him. “Vaughn, sweetheart,” she said gently, “this is a nice lady who just wants to talk to you, okay?”
Dr. Morgan glanced at Amara, sensing the mother’s deep worry, and nodded slightly. “It’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk right now,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Why don’t you both come with me? We have a room with lots of toys and games. You can stay with him the entire time.”
Amara looked down at Vaughn, who still hadn’t moved or responded, and then back at the therapist. She swallowed hard and nodded, giving Vaughn’s hand a reassuring squeeze before following Dr. Morgan down the hallway to a room painted in soft blues and greens.
It was filled with plush toys, blocks, and stuffed animals, a space designed to feel safe and familiar.
“Why don’t you sit down with Vaughn?” Dr. Morgan suggested, pointing to a cozy corner with cushions and soft blankets. “We’ll just talk here, no pressure.”
Amara sat down, pulling Vaughn into her lap. He curled into her without a word, his head resting against her chest. Dr. Morgan took a seat on a nearby chair, giving them plenty of space.
She didn’t push, didn’t ask questions, she simply sat and waited, letting Vaughn take his time to adjust to the new environment.
Minutes passed in silence. Vaughn’s eyes never left the floor, and every time Dr. Morgan shifted or moved, he tensed, his fingers clinging even more tightly to Amara.
The therapist noticed, her expression softening, and she began to speak again, her voice calm and even. “Vaughn, I have a very special room here that has a playground and lots of space to run around. It’s just outside, in a private area. Would you like to see it?”
Vaughn remained still, and Amara could feel his breath hitching, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anxiety.
She gently stroked his hair, whispering words of comfort in his ear, but he refused to move or even acknowledge Dr. Morgan’s invitation.
Dr. Morgan leaned back slightly, not disheartened, and turned her gaze to Amara. “Why don’t you both come with me?” she suggested. “There’s no rush. Sometimes it’s easier if he’s outside where it’s open and less confined. You don’t have to leave him, Amara. You can stay right by his side.”
Amara hesitated, glancing down at Vaughn, but she could see how tightly he was wound, how being inside seemed to press down on him like a heavy weight. “Okay,” she agreed softly. “We’ll go.”
They stood together, and Vaughn’s small frame stiffened as they walked down another hallway that led to an enclosed outdoor area.
The space was wide and green, with trees casting long shadows and a small playground nestled in one corner.
There was a sandbox, a wooden playhouse, and a swing set. The sun was warm, casting a golden light over everything, and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the distant sound of birds.
Amara knelt down beside Vaughn as they entered the open area, and he stayed glued to her side, his face pale and expressionless.
Dr. Morgan kept her distance, moving to a bench near the play area, allowing Vaughn and Amara to explore at their own pace.
She watched with a practiced patience, understanding that this was all part of the process, a process that could not be rushed or forced.
Amara spoke softly to Vaughn, her words barely audible, coaxing him gently to take a step forward, to look at the toys scattered around the play area.
But Vaughn remained immobile, his eyes darting nervously as if expecting danger to leap out at him from every shadow.
His fear was palpable, a living thing that wrapped itself around him and refused to let go.
“Would you like to sit on the swing, Vaughn?” Amara asked quietly, pointing to the small, inviting seat that hung from a sturdy branch. “Or maybe we can play in the sandbox?”
For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, his gaze flickered to the swing, a hint of recognition in his eyes, but the moment passed, and he shook his head, his grip on Amara tightening.
Dr. Morgan watched, her gaze sympathetic but steady. “It’s okay,” she said from where she sat, her voice carrying softly on the breeze. “This is all about what Vaughn feels comfortable with. There’s no need to rush. You’re doing great, both of you.”
Amara’s heart ached as she looked down at Vaughn, feeling the weight of his trauma as if it were her own.
She wanted to reach him, to break through the shell he had built around himself, but she knew it would take time, and she was willing to give him time..
She gently led Vaughn to a bench, sitting down with him on her lap, holding him close as the breeze swept through the yard.
He remained silent, unmoving, but she could feel the faintest hint of relaxation in his body, as if just being outside, away from the confines of the office, had eased a tiny fraction of his fear.
Dr. Morgan didn’t interrupt, didn’t push for more interaction.. she simply observed, allowing Vaughn to become accustomed to her presence without pressure.
It was a delicate balance, and she knew that trust, especially in a child who had been so deeply hurt, was something to be earned, not taken for granted.
“Whenever you’re ready, Vaughn,” Dr. Morgan said gently, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”
Amara closed her eyes, holding Vaughn tightly against her, and hoped with all her heart that this was the beginning of healing..