Chapter 3

Nick's clinic was quiet as a tomb.

A faint scent of sandalwood drifted through the air, and with the white walls, white sheets, and white blinds, the place was so spotless it was almost creepy.

"Ms. Lane, you look really worn out. Is your insomnia getting worse?" Nick said.

He sat behind his spacious office chair, the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose catching the light with a gentle shimmer. He held a refined pen, his slender, fair fingers almost artistic in their elegance.

Two years ago, I came to him as someone struggling with depression. He was the only one…