The Witch Shrink

Their hour was almost up and Heather had spent most of it at the window, facing outward. Dr Schever sat silently on a fawn armchair and watched. She didn’t interrupt and didn’t push, but the pressure of her unspoken questions was preying on Heather’s mind. There were any number of neuroses she could pretend to have but she couldn’t tell the doctor what she really was and certainly not why she was really there. The shrink would not approve of either.