**Chapter 9: Unearthing Shadows** As a child, I always thought Parks was the coolest girl alive—a fierce trailblazer who went after what she wanted with unrelenting determination. She was a force of nature, so unapologetically herself. It wasn't until later that I realized the complexities that lay beneath her surface. My mother was the first to recognize it—her ADHD, a thread woven tightly into the fabric of who Parks was. It defined her brilliance and her madness, two sides of the same coin. My mother understood this better than I ever could, especially as we entered adulthood. After we had broken the news about the baby, our conversation took a heavy turn. My mother, despite her bewilderment over the circumstances, recalled a discussion I had with my father about safe sex. She knew that Arrie had put Parks on birth control, so she couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong. What had happened? The answer was straightforward: Magnolia. She had forgotten to take her pill, and when the time came to stop, neither of us could. The notion of future consequences felt so distant, a phenomenon known in clinical terms as "future myopia." For the record, I don’t have ADHD, but there I was, caught in the whirlwind of emotions that came with the situation. It's not that I wanted to stop; of course, I didn’t. Reflecting back on our lives, I can trace the remnants of all our experiences—the good and the bad, the uplifting and the haunting. It seems a mockery to label it a disorder, to burden her with a stigma when she has the sharpest mind I know. I love the way she perceives the world, the kaleidoscope of thoughts that pour from her unfiltered, and yet the weight of her future myopia feels like a constant ache in my chest. “How’s she doing?” Claire's soft voice cuts through my reverie, her eyes studying me intently. “I’m not sure,” I mutter, my expression faltering. “It feels... weird, I think.” “Weird?” she probes gently. “Her eating disorder’s back,” I admit, the admission hanging heavy in the air. The truth feels like a rock in my stomach—solid and unyielding. Being in love is a messy affair. Their pain intertwines with yours, a tumultuous bond of empathy and despair. I can hardly believe we’ve found ourselves here once more—after everything we’ve fought through, how could this be our reality again? Claire’s smile shifts, morphing into a frown tinged with concern. “Is it?" I nod slowly, the weight of my answer sinking in. “How do you feel?” she asks softly. “Shit,” I reply, swallowing hard. “Scared.” Her understanding nod is all I need, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil within. “That’s fair, considering—” she begins, but I can sense her caution; I don’t want to delve into too many details. She glances down at her notes, shifting gears. “Do you remember where we left off last week?” “Billie,” I say, and she nods, her eyes sharp and focused. “Right. And how you never told anyone.” “We decided not to,” I shrug, the memories of that choice surfacing. “Did you want to?” Her question hangs in the air, weighted. “I guess. Sometimes,” I admit, my mind racing back. “But you didn’t,” she states, and the absence of my truth lingers heavily. “It wasn’t about me,” I reply, though deep down, it might have been, just not in the way I could articulate. It wasn’t my body that bore the burden, my pain was almost secondary. The loss crushed me, yes, but it left her battered and exposed. The eating disorder spiraled out of control after that. Another stint at Bloxham looming over us like a dark cloud, and all we could do was watch. Magnolia looked at me differently after Billie—her gaze shifted, and I became her anchor, her everything, rather than just the boyfriend she loved. The weight of that realization pressed against my chest, but with it came a sense of purpose I couldn’t ignore. I was no longer just a companion; I was her lifeline. Looking back now, I can see the chaotic threads of our lives intertwining—her complex relationship with her dysfunctional family that left scars, and my own struggle for validation, especially after injuring myself. Rugby had always been my escape, and now it was stripped away, a ghost haunting my past. The moment I tore my hamstring while practicing during preseason became a turning point I never anticipated. It was supposed to be a casual game, a bit of fun with friends at Paddington Recreational Ground, yet it turned my life upside down. I had been scouted by both Ulster and the Harlequins—a dream within reach. But one reckless lunge sent everything crashing down. I had faced injuries before, but this one was different—more severe. I had endured countless dislocated shoulders, broken fingers, and other injuries, always persisting through the pain, but this time was different. I remember the exact moment everything shifted. I fell, the ground hard against my body, and I looked up to see my mum and Parks on the sidelines. Their expressions morphed from hope to fear in slow motion as they rushed to my side. Parks, always the swifter one, reached me first, and in that instant, my future evaporated. I was lost. Rugby had become my identity—not just a sport but a piece of me. My parents had beamed with pride over my achievements, but in the grand spectrum of family, it felt like I was merely living in the shadow of my siblings. Higher expectations lay upon me as the oldest boy, and while Parks insisted my father’s love was evident, the doubts crept in like shadows. “And you couldn’t play anymore?” Claire's question brought me back to the present. “Yep,” I confirmed coolly, though the wound still felt fresh. “That was me done.” “With rugby,” she clarified. “Yeah.” I shrugged, feeling the heaviness of what was lost. She leaned back, contemplation woven through her features. “So when rugby was suddenly off the table, what did that mean for you?” I sighed, a silent acknowledgment of the void left behind. “Were you scared?” she pressed gently. “I guess,” I admitted, the honesty of my fear striking a chord. She leaned closer, searching my face. “Still?” Her question caught me off guard. I swallowed hard, the truth slipping through my defenses. “Sometimes.” Claire’s nod held understanding, returning to an earlier point. “Control is an interesting thing. From what you’ve shared, you probably haven’t felt in control of much.” “Right,” I crossed my arms, the discomfort of the assessment washing over me. “Billie; your injury; what happened with Zadie; Magnolia breaking up with you; Magnolia running away; Magnolia dating Christian; Bridget dying—it’s all—” “—fucked,” I interrupted, feeling the shadows weave tighter around me. She set her pen down, her attention fully on me. “I suppose it is. Now what are you going to do about it?” Her question lingered in the air, a challenge wrapped in genuine concern, and as I grappled with the enormity of it, I realized it was time to confront the darkness. The choice lay ahead—was I ready to step into the light?