Messages before bed

You kick off the block heels by the door—HAVEN's soft lighting adjusting to your movement—and pad through the foyer in bare feet, the cool marble a relief after the evening's warmth. The mansion feels different when you come home from being with people. Less cavernous. More like a space waiting to be filled.

You settle onto the living room sofa, tucking your legs beneath you, the suede skirt riding up your thighs. The cardigan slides off one shoulder. You pull up your phone.

Janelle's last text was from twelve minutes ago: "home safe!! see u tomorrow "

You type back: "Thanks for the ride! Saved me a very dark bike journey. See you at 1 "

Send. Simple. Warm without being too much.

Good. Normal friend energy. Not desperate. Not weird.

You switch to your email inbox. Three new messages since you last checked.

The first is from Dr. Elena Vasquez's office—sent at 7:14pm, which means someone was working late on a Saturday. The subject line reads New Patient Inquiry - Availability Confirmation.

You open it.

Dear Ms. Bennett, Thank you for reaching out. Dr. Vasquez has availability this Tuesday at 3:00 PM for an initial consultation. Our sliding-scale fee structure ranges from $40-$80 per session based on income verification. For the first appointment, please bring a valid ID and any relevant medical records. If this time works for you, please confirm and we will hold the slot.

Warm regards,

Patricia Holm

Office Manager, Dr. Elena Vasquez, Psy.D.

Tuesday. Three PM. That's four days from now.

Forty to eighty dollars. I have twenty-eight dollars and change.

The math sits in your stomach like a stone. Even at the lowest tier, a single session would wipe out nearly all your remaining cash. Your first paycheck from Petal & Thread won't arrive until the end of next week at the earliest.

The second email is from Clearwater Counseling Associates—an automated response acknowledging your inquiry and stating that a counselor would be in touch within 48-72 hours. Generic. No specific availability yet.

The third is from Dr. Tomás Reyes's practice: a polite note explaining that he currently has a three-week waitlist for new patients and offering to place you on it.

Three weeks. Clearwater is a waiting game. And Vasquez is affordable only if you can stretch twenty-eight dollars across four more days of food, phone bill, and whatever else comes up.

You stare at the Vasquez email. Tuesday at three. Millbrook is a twenty-minute drive—except you don't have a car. The bus schedule is unreliable. You could bike, but that's forty minutes each way on roads you don't know.

Or you could ask Janelle for a ride.

The thought arrives unbidden and you immediately feel guilty about it. You've known her for less than a day. Asking for rides to therapy appointments is the kind of vulnerability that requires a deeper friendship.

Your phone buzzes. Janelle: "also priya just sent me your pinterest board comment and i'm crying laughing. you said 'mustard has its place... in a sandwich' "

You didn't actually say that. Priya is clearly embellishing.

You type back: "I definitely did NOT say that. Priya is a liar and a propagandist."

Janelle: "she's already making it her status. you're famous."

A smile pulls at your lips despite the weight of the email still open on your screen. You switch back to it, read it once more, and hit reply.

Dear Patricia, Thank you for the quick response. I'd like to confirm the Tuesday 3:00 PM appointment. I'll bring my ID and any documents I have. Best, Riley Bennett

You send it before you can second-guess the financial implications. Forty dollars is survivable if you're careful. You have food at the estate—HAVEN's grocery deliveries are tied to the household account, which Vanessa set up before leaving. Your personal expenses are minimal.

You'll figure it out. You always do.

You close the email app and lean back into the sofa cushions. The mansion hums around you—HAVEN's quiet efficiency, the distant whir of the climate system. Your phone buzzes one more time.

Janelle: "ok but for real tomorrow—wear something you feel good in. wren's camera is unforgiving lol"

You type: "Noted. Night, Janelle."

"night riley "

You set the phone on your chest and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow: LUXE Module Two in the morning, then Janelle's closet at one. Monday: first real shift at Petal & Thread. Tuesday: therapy.

Your life has a schedule now. People expect you places.

The thought is terrifying and wonderful in equal measure.