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She hangs up the phone with resignation and the false smile still pasted over aching lips.

Of course everything would be all right. Wouldn't it? It had to be.

"No, darling, they won't lock you up."

"No, darling, you're not crazy."

"Talk to your doctor. It'll be fine."

What she longs for the most is to say, "I'm scared. I don't understand."

What she longs for the most is to be held and for the trouble to seep quietly away, out of her body and into the ground, cleansed by fire and kisses.

She can't.

Fall's slanting golden light and thinly pure air is no match for dark circles cradling tired eyes.

But it can try. She would welcome that.