A strange stalemate has settled between Clover and Martha. When Clover returns home after two days absent, she expects tears, yelling, frustration, but instead is greeted with a tired smile and a new pair of shoes.

They’re very cute; Clover loves ballet flats, and the ones her mother giver her are cherry red with a bow on top.

“Thank you, mama,” she whispers, and Martha doesn’t mention their fight.

Clover spends the rest of her weekend working the red stain from her dinner out of the graying, grimy carpet. She exchanges awkward pleasantries with her mother, neither broaching the problem. On Sunday evening as Clover makes her way to her appointment with Doctor Horadi, she wonders what she can possibly say to someone who doesn’t believe her.

“Good evening, Clover,” Horadi greets warmly as she holds the door to her office open. “Are those new shoes? They’re very stylish.”

“Mama bought them for me,” Clover explains, slipping past the doctor and collapsing into her favorite spot on the end of the couch.

Horadi pulls the chair from behind her desk and drags it closer to Clover, something she’s never done. Clover stiffens. “Martha called me Friday night,” Horadi explains.

Clover's mouth is dry. “So you know all about my freak out.”

Doctor Horadi balances her clipboard on her knee, eyes serious. “Clover,” she begins, “I believe you ‘freaked out’ because you’ve been under incredible amounts of stress for most of your life, and that your reaction was perfectly natural.”

This is new.

“Martha has told me she won’t be requesting notes from our meetings anymore,” Doctor Horadi adds. “If she asks, until you are eighteen, I am legally obligated to share what she wants to know. But for now, your mother has decided to respect your privacy.”

Clover's throat is tight, closing in, and tears form in the corners of her eyes before she can even process what this means. She rubs them away furiously, wondering if Martha has decided to stop listening in because she respects Clover, or because she can’t handle it anymore. Either way, it's equal parts hurtful and relieving, but she’s grateful.

“I see,” she forces through her throat.

“So, Clover,” the doctor invites gently, “why don’t we start this anew? I want you to be as honest with me as you possibly can; it’s the only way I can find how best to help you.” The clipboard is set aside, and not a single inked scribble blemishes the white sheets on it. She folds her hands. “I am Doctor Horadi,” she begins. “What’s your name?”

Clover swallows, the tears rolling freely down her cheeks. “My name is Clover Lee,” she says. “And my name is Princeton Moss.”