“Schedule the interview,” he said quietly.
The next morning Rachel arrived right on time.
She stood at the door in a simple blouse and dark pants, holding one small bag and a worn Bible.
Instead of smiling nervously, she looked steady — as if she had already accepted whatever might happen.
Before stepping inside, she paused on the porch, closed her eyes, and silently prayed.
Then she looked at Ethan.
“I’m ready now,” she said softly.
Inside the study she asked him a question most people avoided.
“How did your wife die?”
“Car accident,” Ethan answered. “Eighteen months ago.”
Rachel’s face grew still.
“And you’ve been carrying this alone since then,” she said quietly.
Something in Ethan’s chest cracked.
“I’ve tried everything,” he admitted. “Therapists, specialists. Nothing works.”
Rachel listened before saying gently, “I don’t think your daughters are out of control. I think they’re drowning. And drowning people fight the hardest when someone tries to pull them up.”
Her words hit harder than anything a therapist had said.
“There’s a difference between fixing and healing,” she continued. “Fixing makes life easier for us. Healing makes children whole again.”
“I can give you one week,” Ethan said.