Again Alana nods. Whatever happened, it's a delicate subject, clearly a place where she has to tread carefully. Some wounds, no matter how old, constantly feel torn open, and she doesn't want to be the one to expose it and cause more pain. "You had your whole life before this," she says. Her pen rests in her hand, her hand on the page, flat. She can take notes a little later. It won't help now. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about or that you're not ready to discuss. I want this to be a safe place for you."