“That is not what it looked like.” I look away. “I had a little. . .episode.” She frowns. “What kind of episode?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Like a. . .I guess it was like a. . .panic attack?” She drops her arms to her sides. “What? Oh my gosh, Em, are you okay?” “I’m fine now,” I say. “Owen helped me.” “Helped you with a panic attack?” “Like I told you. He’s good at his job.” “Yeah, his job is fighting fires,” she says. “Not coaching people through anxiety.” I shrug and start walking toward the front of the house. “Well, he learned that too, I guess. You should start paying attention.
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