The nightmares continued.
Lucy began avoiding places where people wore motorcycle helmets.
She flinched when strangers raised their voices.
And whenever she saw an image of a raven, she became visibly frightened.
She also stopped making paper cranes for several weeks.
Mara tried to help.
She removed a motorcycle magazine from the living room.
Asked neighbors to warn her before starting loud engines near the house.
And arranged appointments with a child psychologist associated with the hospital.
The psychologist, Dr. Priya Shah, approached Lucy gently.
She didn't ask her to relive the event in detail during every visit.
She helped the child identify feelings, practice ways to feel grounded in the present, and regain a sense of control over ordinary choices. When an investigative interview became necessary, it was arranged through appropriate professionals so Lucy wouldn't be repeatedly pressured to tell the story to everyone who wanted answers.
The process was slow.
Some weeks were better than others.
On one afternoon, Lucy played with modeling clay for twenty minutes and laughed at a crooked elephant she'd made.
The next morning, she refused to enter the car because she smelled someone else's engine exhaust in the parking area.
Mara learned that progress didn't always move in a straight line.
She also learned how exhausted love could become.
She loved Lucy.
She loved Emma.
And she would have done anything to help them.
But she was caring for a frightened child while helping coordinate her sister's treatment, managing medical paperwork, working part-time, and trying to maintain a household that seemed to have lost its center.
Sometimes, late at night, she cried in the kitchen.
Not because she regretted caring for Lucy.
Because she was afraid she wouldn't be enough.
One evening, Dr. Shah told her something she desperately needed to hear.
“Lucy doesn't need you to have every answer.”
Mara looked exhausted.
“Then what does she need?”
“She needs people who are dependable, who listen, and who help her feel safe without making promises they can't control.”
Mara nodded.
Then whispered, “What if I make mistakes?”
Dr. Shah smiled gently.
“You will. We all do. The important thing is what happens afterward.”
Mara took a breath.
For a moment, she looked toward the closed door of the playroom where Lucy was drawing.
Then asked quietly, “Will she ever stop being frightened?”
The psychologist considered the question.