"I can't really explain it, doc." The young blonde woman sitting across from Clara Hess wore a puzzled look on her face. Clara gave her her full attention, and after a significant pause, she elaborated.

"I'm generally a happy person, and life is generally going well. I love my job, I work on my own schedule, I have a good time hanging out with my friends... but... something just feels... off about everything. I can't point to anything specific but..."

She trailed off. Clara prompted: "What does this feel like? Does it make you sad, angry, afraid, or something else entirely?"

"I guess it feels like my life is fine, but I don't belong. Like I'm the wrong person to be living it. Like I need something else in my life, but I don't know what it is."

So the woman felt like she didn't belong in her life, but didn't know why. Clara wondered what the root of the problem might be. She was clearly secure in her career, being an artist famous and lucky enough to earn a sizable income. She had many friends, and was close enough with one of them, Beth, that she had opened up about this problem to her. Beth had been the one to suggest this meeting, she knew. Clearly she cared about her friends, and they cared about her. So then...

"How's your relationship with your family?" Clara asked.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise. "I guess... I haven't seen them in a while, now that you ask. I guess I don't really think about them that much."

"When was the last time you talked with them?"

"Oh, a few years ago now I guess..."

"Is there some reason you don't want to see them? Was there a falling-out?"

"No, we're on good terms but... like I said, I guess I don't think about them that much. Can we talk about something else?" She shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, I think this might be important to your problem," Clara replied. "Most people meet up with family at least once a year, and if I understand correctly you haven't so much as sent an email or made a call in several years. Family is an important part of how we define our place in this world, and if you feel you don't belong anywhere, don't you think a weakening relationship with them might contribute to that?"

"I guess it could be like that. But, I don't feel lonely. I don't have any anger towards my parents, but I don't long to see them again either. My childhood is over. Like I said, I generally like where I'm at in life, it's just that something feels off somehow. I'm sorry I can't explain any better."

"What was your childhood like? Did anything happen that might make you want to distance yourself from it?"

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The blonde lady appeared a bit confused for a moment before responding. "No, my childhood was... happy... but now that you mention it, I don't remember very many specifics... I grew up on a farm, I guess I went to school..."

Clara felt a lump in her throat as she heard the woman struggle to describe a scattered recollection of her childhood. "I don't know whether this applies to you or not, but sometimes when a person goes through a traumatic event in their childhood, they suppress the memories..."

"I don't think that's what it is," replied the woman quickly. "I don't feel anything negative when I think about my childhood, the impression I get is completely positive. My parents loved me and I was almost always happy. I just... don't remember a lot. Maybe I'm just forgetful. The past just doesn't seem all that important to me. I tend to live more for the present."

She brightened up a bit as she said the last sentence. Clara didn't really know what advice to give, but one thing might help.

"Just do one thing for me. Give your parents a call, just to try it. See what happens. They loved you then, they almost certainly still love you now. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear from you, especially with how successful you've been."

"Alright, I guess I can do that."

"With that, our time is unfortunately over. I'll see you again in a week. It was nice to get to know you, Crisis."

Crisis smiled gently. She had a nice, bright, innocent smile, but in another context that smile would have struck mortal terror into the heart of even a hardened soldier.

"It was nice meeting you, too."

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Later that night:

Crisis thought about what her therapist had said. She supposed it was probably wise: there could be no harm in talking to her parents after all. Trouble was, she couldn't remember their number.

She searched through her phone, but her parents weren't in her contacts. She frowned. Maybe she had only written the number down on a sheet of paper? She looked around her apartment, in all her drawers and under the furniture, but none of the papers she found had any phone numbers on it.

She must have been short sighted when she had left home, and forgot to copy down their number. Maybe she could look them up in the phone book? Except... she realized with a slight shock that she couldn't even recall either of their names. She could picture the rough outlines of their faces but... she wasn't sure she could even pick them out from a lineup. How had she never noticed this gaping hole in her past before?

Wait, that's right, she thought. My parents are dead. That explains why they don't have a phone number. She felt relief. This relief was short-lived, however, as she soon pondered the implications of this. How had she forgot about her parent's deaths? Shouldn't this have been a grieving process for her? Did she really care that little? Tears welled up in her eyes. She did care about them... or at least she remembered caring about them... but if they were dead, that still didn't explain why she couldn't remember their names. She must have had parents, but... who were they? And why had she never asked this before?

Long into the night she lay awake pondering these questions, until her exhausted brain fell asleep. When she woke up, she felt confused... or at least remembered feeling confused. Wasn't she trying to figure something out? She sighed. Maybe she had gotten stuck on one of those dumb philosophical questions like why anything exists or something. If she couldn't remember the details, it probably wasn't anything important. She got out of bed, got dressed, and began working on her art.