The Therapist

I heard stories of this happening to other parents. I counseled countless parents. I also found myself questioning their judgment, which prompted me to push my practice in another direction. Every time I heard a story, the words floating in my mind surprised me. That’s extremely irresponsible of them. There’s no way that you can do that. Until it happened to me. I still ask myself every day, How could you leave her? How could you have forgotten her? I remember exactly what happened to this day; it plays back in my mind daily. Now more so than ever before. Deep down inside, I will never forgive myself. Sienna didn’t ask to be here, and God in heaven knows she didn’t ask to be taken away from me.

Regardless of all the training that I had undergone, I didn’t realize I was suffering from a bout of depression. Without question, I chalked it up to new mother syndrome, mixed with a little postpartum. Nothing serious, though. I did find myself extremely tired at the end of my day, but it all appeared normal to me. The only unusual and uncomfortable thing I noticed was that when I lay in bed at night, I tossed back and forth, fighting images of Mason and Chuck brutalizing my body.

In addition, I tried in the wee hours of the night to figure out who Sienna looked like the most, and I was haunted by the question of whether Mason fathered our daughter. If he did, even though I didn’t consent to the sex with either of them, I would never have turned my husband down. In my eyes, Chuck raped me, and the last thing I wanted to do was give birth to my rapist’s child. I hated Mason for what he did to me; however, I would not have made my child suffer because of it.

Giving birth to Sienna was supposed to save my marriage. I thought it was a sign from God that I was supposed to forgive Mason, that we were supposed to undergo therapy and patch things up. No matter how much I fought it and tried to convince myself, deep down inside, I knew the truth the moment I laid eyes on Sienna. It ate away at me day in and day out. Mason and I both have blue eyes, so it’s only natural that our child has blue eyes. Not Sienna. She was born with green eyes. She had yellow-brown hair, which is where her name derives from. The same color hair and eyes as Chuck, as if he had spit her out of his mouth. I couldn’t give her back; she was my child. I carried her for nine months.

I attempted to do everything in my power to take my mind to another place on those sleepless nights when those thoughts and images plagued my mind. I tried taking a hot bath, reading a book, as well as drinking some warm milk. I did whatever I could think of. But none of it worked. When things became unbearable, I consulted my therapist, who prescribed sleeping tablets and antidepressants. I took Ambien and Seroxat, but they were hopeless. Until I incorporated a bottle of pinot noir into the mix. The images evaporated, and I went from unhappy to bubbly, in conjunction with getting a perfect night’s sleep. At times, I’d see things that may or may not have been present; however, as a mental health professional, I knew it was merely a side effect, and that prevented me from becoming alarmed or panic-stricken.

There’s no way I didn’t take Sienna out of the car. I bathed her and put her to bed. I didn’t leave her in the car. I would have never done anything of the sort. Forgotten Baby Syndrome is what they call it, when the parent loses awareness that the child is in the car. I know I did not have postpartum or Forgotten Baby Syndrome. I brought her into the house.

I cry convulsively. This pain is like no other. Natural death can be worked through over time. Not this pain. It’s dogged, and it never goes away.

I pop half of a Seroxat and chase it with a glass of pinot noir. I didn’t follow instructions and attend therapy back then. Maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently. My mind rewinds, and memories of the day Sienna was taken from me invade my thought process.

“Good morning, my beautiful Sienna I know you’re hungry,” I said, soothing her, as I strapped her to the front of me in her baby carrier as I prepared both bottles for feeding. “Aw heavens, Mommy is out of her happy pills and low on her friend pinot.” I poured the final glass with a twisting motion of my wrist.

Shortly after her feeding, we headed to the CVS drive-through for my happy pills. Then we went to the wine and spirits store for a bottle of pinot noir, and on the way Sienna was out like a light. I admired her peacefulness through the rearview mirror as we reached our destination. Considering the temperature had reached ninety-nine degrees today—eleven degrees above average—and I was parked right in front of the store, I decided to run in and leave her in the air-conditioned car.

I will be right out. I can see her from the counter. What I need is right next to the counter, I told myself silently, and I was thoroughly convinced.

I bought what I came for, hopped back in the car, and pulled away from the curb. As I made my way across the bridge, my thoughts consumed me, and I became so distraught that driving off the bridge appeared to be the only logical thing to do at that moment. Gripping the steering wheel, I stared at Sienna through the rearview mirror and gathered myself. Refocusing my eyes on the road, I heard a loud bang. Thinking there was something wrong with my car, I signaled to pull over.

After inspecting the car and realizing there wasn’t anything wrong with it, I drove to the exit and pull over near the lake not far from my house. Unable to escape my taunting thoughts, I removed the bottle of wine from the bag. I needed a drink right now. My nerves were all over the place.

“Damn, I don’t have a corkscrew,” I said aloud. “Wait a minute. The tree method.” I beamed at the tree to the left of the driver’s seat.

After stepping out of the car, I grabbed the hand towel that had been catching the sweat from my face from the front seat. As I approached the tree, I wrapped the towel around the bottle of pinot. Then I hit the bottom of the bottle against the tree, which forced the cork to spring up. I chuckled hard.

“Thank God, Sienna is asleep,” I declared aloud as I grasped the exposed edge of the cork and pulled. It popped out.

After taking a seat on the ground, beside my new best bud, I removed my happy pills from my pocket and tossed two back, then followed them with a swig of my pinot. Unable to remove images of Mason’s and Chuck’s face from my mind, I took another pill and then downed half the bottle in three separate gulps.

“Oh, yeah, I’m feeling good,” I said as I rose to my feet into a hip shuffle.

It’s beautiful out. I think I will drive around a little more. That way, Sienna will sleep well while I try to enjoy my day, I thought as I walked over to the car. She loved car rides; they were like a sleep aid for her. No matter what, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open when I drove around with her. Now that I was thinking about it, all she did was sleep. I guessed that was what babies did. What else could they do anyway?

By the time I made it back on the highway, I could feel my happy pills taking effect, as my eyelids were growing heavy.

“Home, sweet home,” I said out loud as I pulled into my garage ten minutes later. “But how did I get here so fast? I don’t even remember driving here or in this direction. I must have fallen asleep in the car. Maybe I came back out for something. I am not sure.” I got out of the car and tried to walk into the house, but my legs had a mind of their own. They swayed left and right. No matter how many steps I attempted to take, it appeared I was not getting any closer to the door. Then I stumbled and landed on the floor of the garage, and everything went dark.

“Mrs. Binet. Mrs. Binet,” someone called, pulling me from my stupor.

“H-Hi, Helen. Where am I?” I said, slurring.

Helen, my neighbor, looked concerned. “I was walking Mannie when I saw your garage door open and noticed you on the ground. Are you all right?”

“Oh my God! Sienna is in the house, alone.” I got up and raced inside.

With my head pounding at the same rate as my heart, I searched the house frantically.

“Mrs. Binet! Oh my God, no!” Helen shouted from the garage.

After running as fast as I could back to my garage, my heart stopped when I witnessed Helen attempting CPR on my Sienna.

“What have I done?” I sobbed as I raced back inside for the telephone.

Once I had the phone in my hand, I dialed 911 as I scurried back to the garage. When the dispatcher answered, I wailed into the receiver, “My baby is hurt. She isn’t breathing! Please hurry. She’s unresponsive. Please don’t let my baby die. Please hurry! Oh my God! My baby isn’t breathing.”

Helen continued performing CPR until the ambulance arrived, and the whole time I felt my soul leave my body. It was like watching a terrible movie, but this wasn’t a movie—it was my daughter’s life. The EMTs arrived and attempted, unsuccessfully, to help my baby. They pronounced her dead before we got to the hospital, and I passed out before the EMT got to the end of his first sentence. By the time I came to, I was handcuffed to a hospital bed. Thankfully, with the help of my therapist and the jury, which heard the panic and horror in my voice in my 911 call, I was found not guilty of manslaughter, but I was devastated.

Following my baby’s death, I underwent an extensive amount of therapy and was granted the opportunity to continue working in my practice. I was permitted to keep my practice open while I recovered. Technically, I was supposed to be working only at the hospital while I recovered. However, I knew I was better before everyone else did. After all, no one knows me better than I know myself. And so I took on patients on the side. My license to practice remained intact, and I was able to continue prescribing medications to patients. Which meant, I was not a danger to myself or anyone else, or therapists would have deemed me such.

And that is why I am so upset with Candice for using her textbook knowledge to tell me what I can and cannot do. I am more bothered by Jenna for repeating what I shared with her. I should have known better. Running into her in the grocery store was perfect. But I didn’t set her as straight as I should have, which is why I am headed to her place now. If she never learns anything else, she will learn what it means to preserve the secrets and the loyalty of a friend or an ex-lover.

As I approach Jenna’s complex, I am startled by the deafening sound of sirens, and this sparks a flashback of the EMTs arriving to work on my Sienna.

“That’s Jenna! They’re putting on the stretcher,” I say aloud as I slam the car into park and jump out. “What happened to her?” I yell as I rush through the crowd that has gathered.

Locking eyes with Candice, I see her pain-stricken face, and it is interchangeable with every rape victim that I’ve ever counseled, and this stops me in my tracks. As I gaze around, I take notice of my surroundings, and then Candice practically leaps into my arms and buries her head in my chest.

“H-He r-r-r-raped her,” she blubbers.

“Who?” I catch sight of Alonzo, and my eyes pierce through him. “You will pay for this,” I snarl at him. “You will not get away with any of this. I promise you will suffer dearly for this.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he shoots back.

I refocus my attention on the situation at hand. “Candice, I need you to be strong. Get into the ambulance with Jenna. I will meet the two of you at the hospital,” I say.

Who did this to her? This cannot be happening right now. The girl was a virgin. Whoever this coward is, he must pay severely for his sins, I tell myself.

My adrenaline spikes. This perpetrator deserves to be tortured for what he’s done. Chuck got away with raping me, just like all the rapists the majority of my patients have encountered. This time should be different. It has to be. If we know who he is, we shouldn’t leave it up to the authorities to rectify the situation. I jump behind the wheel and accelerate as I head down the street in the direction of the hospital.

When I reach the hospital, I park and then run toward the emergency room. As I dart through the emergency-room doors, I run smack-dab into Alonzo.

“My bad. Where is she? Is she all right? Who did this to her?” I say, all in one breath.

“You owe me an apology, Brianne. How dare you openly accuse me of doing something like that!”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing.” I brush past him and race toward the receptionist. “Hello. Can you tell me where they have Jen—”

“Brianne, she’s this way,” Candice shouts from the door.

“Where is she? Is she all right? What happened? Who did this to her?” I ask.

“She’s in that room over there.” Candice points over her shoulder. “Omarion hurt her really bad, Brianne.”

“Omarion? I don’t know him. Where did she meet him? Where did he come from?”

“He’s her sponsor from group.”

“You have to be kidding me,” I say, fuming.

“I wish I were. Dad and the detectives are in with her now. I called Dad from the ambulance. Well, texted him . . . to meet us at the hospital. They still have to do a rape kit on her. She is in a bad way right now. She keeps shaking and won’t talk.”

“Is she at least talking to the detectives?”

“No. She’s writing it down the best that she can in between crying. Why is this happening, Brianne? She is the sweetest person in the world. Why would someone want to hurt her like this?”

“Candice, we all . . . I mean, no one deserves anything remotely close to this happening. These cowards play on women’s vulnerability and take advantage of them. I had no idea Jenna was going to counseling or group.”

“She started after things went left with you. Is there anyone that we can trust? Are all men like this, Brianne?” She burst into tears.

“You can trust me, Candice. I would never hurt you or anyone like this,” Alonzo remarks as he walks up behind us.

“I am going to go and see if I can be of assistance,” I announce and then I head in the direction of Jenna’s room.

I make my way to the room, and my heart skips several beats as I open the door.

“Get out. I don’t want her in here,” Jenna growls when she sees me.