and Mark were good.

They were better than good, actually.

Mark talked to Daisy all the time, and he always said goodnight to Daisy—no matter how late at night it was. Mark was attentive and open to talking and available, and Daisy felt happy. Daisy and Mark were good.

So Daisy wasn't sure why things weren't getting better.

She had sort of pinned every single problem in her life onto Mark and her strained relationship with him. Daisy had it drilled into her mind that once they repaired their relationship, everything else would magically fall into place, and things would be a lot better.

Yet Daisy felt worse than she had before. Daisy felt guilty, and she couldn't figure out the exact cause.

The sensation in the pit of her stomach had begun one night at the dinner table, Mark and Daisy both leaned over a textbook of seventh grade Algebra problems.

Mark was a relatively mellow person, but Daisy's math homework tended to make him the grumpiest person alive.

"I can't do it that way." Daisy argued for what felt like the billionth time as Mark frowned.

"But why not? I got you the right answer ten times quicker."

"I won't get any credit."

"But it's the right answer."

"But I won't get any credit."

Mark said nothing, only repeatedly circling the numbers he had written down in an excessive manner to prove his point. Daisy immediately groaned, and Mark merely shrugged.

"What? It's the right answer."

"I can't. I have to use grouping, or I won't get credit."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, your teacher sounds awful," Mark mumbled out. "Are parent-teacher conferences still a thing?"

"No." Daisy was quick to provide Mark with false information, not wanting her math teacher to hate her because Mark had taken it upon himself to scream at her over some numbers.

Daisy thought that Mark was sort of the most embarrassing human being sometimes.

The girl pulled her textbook away from Mark and toward herself, the man immediately frowning as Daisy made it clear via non-verbal communication that she didn't want his help anymore.

"Come on, I'm helping."

"You're gonna make me fail math." Daisy mumbled, scrapping the piece of paper they had been working on and starting fresh with a brand new loose-leaf sheet.

Daisy wrote her name neatly in the top corner of her paper as she always did, small letters spelling out her name.

Daisy Sloan.

It was only June, but the girl was trying her best to prepare for August. She had been writing the new name on all her assignments.

It was a strategy Dr. Perkins had suggested; if she practiced writing the new name out as many times as possible, she wouldn't be so shell-shocked and anxious when the change occurred officially on a court document.

Mark was staring, and Daisy knew that Mark had seen it because he looked happy. The girl knew he certainly wasn't happy about algebraic equations.

But Daisy grimaced, because no matter how many times she wrote the name on her school papers, it just felt all wrong.

The guilt began tearing away at her stomach, a funny feeling that Daisy couldn't shake off.

"I hate it."

"I hate it too," Mark mumbled his agreement. "Why would they implement a new system to make math as complex and difficult as possible when they could just-"

"The name," Daisy specified, staring down at the letters that were haunting her. "I think it's ugly."

Mark frowned as he also stared down at the neat letters. "I don't think it's ugly."

"I do. Every time I look at it, it makes me feel so..."

Daisy struggled to find the word to accurately sum up the emotions she was feeling, and Mark attempted to help.

"Sad?"

"Nauseous," Daisy corrected. "It makes me feel nauseous. I hate it."

Mark hadn't ever heard anybody describe his surname as nauseating, and he had to admit it bruised his ego just a little.

"Daisy Livingston has fifteen letters, and five syllables, and it's perfect," Daisy pressed on as she attempted to make her point. "But if I went by the new name it would have ten letters, and only three syllables. And...three is a divisible of fifteen, but it's...it doesn't feel as nice as five syllables. You know?"

Mark didn't know, nor did he understand. Why did syllables and word count matter?

"You can hyphenate it, if you don't want to get rid of the old one." Mark suggested, but Daisy looked extremely wary.

"That's too long," Daisy spoke out nervously, as if long and hyphenated surnames possessed the ability to hurt her. "And then...my name would have twenty letters, and six syllables and...that's just awful, that's way too much and none of it would be a divisible of fifteen and-"

"Daisy," Mark spoke calmly as the girl rambled on, clearly feeling overwhelmed and upset. "You don't have to change your name if you don't want to. It's okay."

Daisy frowned at Mark's comments. "But you'll be mad."

"I won't be mad." Mark reassured, but Daisy didn't believe him.

Daisy thought she would hurt his feelings if she stuck with her own surname, and that made the feeling in the pit of Daisy's stomach intensify.

But the idea of scrapping her surname and jumping onto a new one made Daisy feel guilty, like she was abandoning an old life. Daisy thought her dad would be disappointed in her for being willing to move on so quickly.

Daisy felt immeasurably guilty, regardless of which path she took.

"I don't think you should feel guilty," Dr. Perkins had voiced his thoughts when Daisy came to her psychiatry session the next day, retelling the events of math homework at the kitchen table. "You're starting a new chapter, and you're changing. It's a good thing when we change."

"I don't like changing," Daisy frowned. Surely Dr. Perkins knew that, it was the epitome of Daisy's mental illness. "I like when things are the same."

"Don't you think it would be boring if everybody and everything was the exact same all the time?" Dr. Perkins had begged a thought-provoking question, but Daisy merely shrugged.

Daisy thought it would be wonderful if everybody and everything stayed the same all the time. There would be no surprises, no shocks. The world would be such a comfortable place.

"It feels wrong," Daisy mumbled out. "The new name, it feels...bad. I feel bad. I think he would be mad at me."

"I don't think Mark would be mad. I think he would be happy, actually."

"My dad," Daisy corrected quietly. "It feels kind of wrong."

Dr. Perkins thought he knew what Daisy meant. It felt like a betrayal to her father to be starting a new life. "Lots of people have two dads."

"I don't. I have one dad," Daisy clarified as she furrowed her eyebrows at Dr. Perkins' comment, not loving what he had said. "And he gave me his name. And...and if I just give it away, then..."

Then that would make Daisy a bad person, the girl decided. Daisy would be giving away a gift that wasn't hers to give away.

Daisy would be giving away a gift that her father had given to her. It was special because he had given it to her, and she was supposed to carry it with her forever.

Names were important. Daisy's last name would forever be pinned to her first, and she would always use it to identify herself. It had to sound pretty, and Daisy didn't think that Sloan sounded very pretty.

"It makes me a hypocrite, anyway. Because I used to get so mad at Caly when she would try to play family with other foster families. I would get so mad, and..."

Daisy lost her voice as memories of her little sister popped up. She thought about the tiny girl that had always been smiling.

But then the bad memories started popping up. Mental images played on repeat, images of blood and bent bicycles, the flashing of the ambulance lights and solemn-looking paramedics.

And the warmth. It always came back to how warm the blood was.

Daisy shivered at the memory, despite the temperature in the room being uncomfortably warm. Daisy felt the clamminess on her palms as she shifted, frowning as her eyes fell on the thermostat in the corner.

"You can stop cranking it up all the time, you know. The heat doesn't freak me out anymore."

Daisy had provided zero context for the thoughts in her head, and Dr. Perkins was just slightly confused.

"Sorry?"

"The thermostat, you...you make it hot in here all the time to freak me out," Daisy mumbled out, Dr. Perkins frowning at her words.

"Not to freak you out, to-"

"To make me 'feel the raw emotions'." Daisy cut her psychiatrist off in a nasty tone, repeating the reminder he frequently pushed during their sessions.

Dr. Perkins looked taken aback, and Daisy immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry," Daisy mumbled out, gently rubbing the palms of her hands onto her jeans so the sweat didn't settle. Daisy hated sweat. "I just don't like it. And not because the heat freaks me out, because it did, it...it used to. But now it's just uncomfortable all the time in here, and I hate feeling all clammy and gross every time I step into your office."

Dr. Perkins was wordless, merely nodding as he stood up and crossed the room, pressing the silicone button on the thermostat to make it a bit cooler.

The psychiatrist was silent as he took his seat back at his desk, and Daisy was incredibly nervous she had made the man angry.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap or be mean. I do it all the time and it's a really bad habit, but I didn't mean to actually-"

"It's okay," Dr. Perkins shook his head. "I'm not angry, I'm just...thinking. I'm noticing growth."

Daisy wasn't sure what he was talking about. The only thing that had noticeably grown since their first psychiatry session was the potted plant in the corner. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think you need my help anymore," Dr. Perkins looked down at the notes on his desk, clearing his throat as he turned his attention to the girl sitting in front of him. "You've been reframing in all the ways I've showed you, and you've started talking frequently, and...the room being a couple degrees hotter doesn't send you into a panic attack anymore. I don't think you need my help."

"Yes I do," Daisy frowned, not liking the idea of not regularly having her appointments. "Yes I do, I...I need psychiatry."

"I agree," Dr. Perkins nodded. "Psychiatry shouldn't stop. I think it's good for you to consistently have somebody to talk to, and I can refer you back to Dr. Sen. But I don't think you need my help anymore."

Daisy didn't like the thought of not coming to see Dr. Perkins anymore. Though his sessions seemed tedious at times and his office was humid, Daisy thought the one-hour periods that they saw each other helped her tremendously.

"But I don't want to stop," Daisy shook her head, feeling nervous as her fingers began to gently tap in rhythms. "And I still miss her. So it hasn't gone away, you haven't fixed me yet."

Dr. Perkins smiled slightly, aware that Daisy had a slight misconception of what trauma therapy was. The girl seemed to be under the impression that Dr. Perkins' job was to fully heal her pain rather than help her learn to cope with what had happened.

"It's not ever going to go away," Dr. Perkins spoke words that made Daisy frown. "It'll feel better some days than others. But the pain shouldn't ever go away, that wouldn't be normal."

"I wish it would go away."

"It would be easier if it did," Dr. Perkins nodded. "But grief doesn't work like that."

Daisy decided that grief would be far more pleasant if it just went away for good. It would be more bearable if she didn't have to carry it with her all the time, and if it didn't invade every ounce of her life.

Daisy exhaled slowly, her eyes flickering over to the clock strung on the wall. They had only a minute or two before the end of Daisy's session. "So no more sessions?"

"One more session," Dr. Perkins corrected the girl's statement. "To check in. Sometime before the end of June, before I leave."

Daisy frowned at that statement, forgetting that the man didn't actually work at the hospital long-term. He was merely there to help other people work through freak accidents the way he had helped Daisy.

"And I need you to write a letter."

"A letter?" Daisy was incredibly confused. Dr. Perkins frequently had her do little exercises, writings to help her pin her thoughts down on paper. But a letter seemed a little weird.

"It's something I have most patients do," Dr. Perkins elaborated. "To highlight growth. It's helpful for both of us to see your progress."

Daisy had always been a visual learner, but in the sense of pictures and graphs. Not letters and words. Writing a letter seemed like a waste of time because there didn't seem to be much growth to chart.

"A letter to you?"

"It can be to me. Or Mark, or your sister, or it doesn't have to be addressed at all. It's not confined to anything or anyone, it's just a piece of writing."

Just a piece of writing. Like it wasn't the most impossible thing for Daisy to try to capture all of her thoughts into words.

"Is there anything else you wanted to touch on?" Dr. Perkins begged the question, seeing as the pair had already gone a minute over their scheduled end time.

So much.

What do I do about the name change? How do I even write a letter when I haven't grown? When does the grief stop swallowing you whole? Am I ever going to actually get better?

"Not really."

"Perfect," Dr. Perkins smiled. "I'll...see you soon, then."

Daisy merely nodded, wiping her palms on her jeans again as she stood up. She swore she could still feel traces of sweat, despite the temperature in the room having been knocked down a few degrees.

"Oh, and...the name. You don't think it's ugly," Dr. Perkins stopped Daisy before she exited his office. "It goes back to the guilt thing. You don't like change. Which I get, but...you shouldn't feel guilty about changing. And if your parents are as selfless and wonderful as you've described, I don't think they'd be angry that you're changing. The new name is nice."

Daisy only frowned as she turned to walk out of Dr. Perkins' office, her feet leading her out into the hallway of the psychiatric ward.

It was ugly. Daisy didn't want to change her stance on the matter.

Daisy heard the nurses at the adjacent station talking about the occupancy of OR 1 and the facial reconstruction that Dr. Sloan was performing. The girl couldn't help but immediately wince at the sound of the name.

It sounded bad. It sounded ugly.

Or maybe not necessarily ugly. Daisy thought about the pretty girl named Sloane in her math class. Everybody seemed to like her, and nobody had ever said she had an ugly name.

Maybe it wasn't ugly.

But the name didn't belong to her, and Daisy certainly wasn't a thief.