I didn’t even look the same. The weight I’d lost in my misery had sharpened my cheekbones, my hand was still taped because I couldn’t bear to look at it, and… my hair. It had begun to grow back in, which made me look a little less like a freak, but it was silver. Every single strand had grown back in gray. The premature graying must have been genetic, but I couldn’t help but feel that it was a mutation caused by trauma. I could barely look at myself in the mirror. It was an outward physical sign that I’d never be the same again. I hated the way I looked, hated the way I couldn’t seem to get past my fears and memories. I hated the way my fingers throbbed in some sort of phantom pain, pain that I didn’t even recall having when I’d lost two of them as a child.

Peg had no idea how to help me. I think she may have felt just as lost as I was. She didn’t coddle me, that wasn’t her style, but she never pushed me, either. She was just there, ready for anything I needed and willing to do whatever she could to help. She continued to talk to me like I was normal, like I had any opinion on which bed to buy at the local thrift store—which we’d gone to before the agoraphobia had kicked in—or what I’d like for dinner, even though I never answered her.

She tried. God knows she tried.

It had been two and a half months since we’d left Ireland and I hadn’t spoken a single word since that day.

My body was healing, but my mind seemed to be stuck in those first few days after the attack. Certain things would set me off, like the trip to the hardware store a couple of blocks away, or the floral print couch Peg found at a yard sale for free.

Then, out of the blue, Peg decided to try something different to get my attention. She’d heard some co-workers discussing a lady that did acupuncture to treat everything from eczema to high blood pressure. I’m not sure if she thought I’d balk enough at the thought of some stranger sticking dozens of little needles in my body to speak up, or if she’d thought it would actually work—but two days later, she told me that I had an appointment.

The fear of leaving the house was getting better. I wasn’t ready to take a cross-country trip, but I was able to leave the house for short periods as long as I was with Peg. I called it progress, though I’m sure Peg would have just called it annoying.

The acupuncture place was calming. There was some low nature sounds coming from the boom box in the corner, some incense burning on two different shelves, and the acupuncturist seemed high. Okay, maybe she wasn’t high, but the woman was seriously calm, far more calm than I’d ever seen anyone. It was like she’d taken both happy pills and some sort of downer… life was good, but she wasn’t going to get all riled up about it.

Everything went okay, and I wasn’t even nervous. She sat me down in a comfortable chair after Peg told her I was mute. Fucking mute? I just didn’t talk. It wasn’t like I couldn’t.

Of course I didn’t correct her. It wasn’t until she went into her whole little spiel that I finally had the urge to speak. No, that’s not quite right. I didn’t have the urge to talk, I just wanted to scream bloody murder. It was six words. Just six words left me screaming inside my head.

“Any chance you might be pregnant?”

She glanced between Peg and I, knowing I wouldn’t answer, but just as Peg opened her mouth to speak…

I nodded.

It was one sharp jerk, an almost involuntary movement, but it changed so much.

The acupuncturist rambled on about different parts of my body she wouldn’t touch in case I was pregnant, and I met Peg’s eyes, seeing in them the same fear I was feeling. We were both counting back, trying to pinpoint when and how long.

It was silly. I knew when. I knew exactly when.

The acupuncture had actually helped a little, and I think it might have helped a lot if I hadn’t had such a devastating realization right there in the office. I nodded in agreement to coming back for another appointment, and attempted a noncommittal smile as the lady gave me a list of times she taught yoga at the local YMCA. There was no way I’d go to a public place like that, but it was nice for her to offer.

Peg didn’t say anything about it after we left. It was as if we’d both agreed to ignore it, at least until we wrapped our brains around it.

Two days later, I heard Peg talking in the living room while I lay on my bed. She did that a lot—talked even if I wasn’t in the room. I think sometimes she just got sick and tired of the quiet and had to do something to fill it. It was a feeling I could completely understand. I was sick of the quiet too, but I had no idea how to change it.

My lack of period was a solid indication that I was indeed pregnant, but I didn’t have any other symptoms. I wasn’t sick, or hungry, or peeing all the time. I just hadn’t had a period. For a few hours, I’d tried to pretend that the stress had just messed up my cycle, but I couldn’t let my mind linger on that scenario for long. I’d become a realist sometime between getting married and being abandoned in Ireland, and I knew deep in my gut that I was carrying a child.

Peg’s voice got closer to my bedroom door, and I was startled to hear another voice as she opened it. A familiar voice.

“Yer hair,” he gasped in confusion, looking between his mom and me for an explanation. “What did ye do?”

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Patrick,” Peg said quietly, looking at me in apology. “I know I told ye to wait, and I still think that was the right thing, but… it’s good yer here now.”