Chapter 3
I couldn't sleep a wink all night.
The next morning, I dragged myself to the hospital, dark circles under my eyes.
I never expected the first patient I'd see would be Maxine.
He was clearly in a bad mood. When he walked in, he didn't seem to recognize me.
Sitting down, he said in a low, serious voice, "Two years ago, I fell seriously ill and lost my memory. Everything before that... is all gone.
"I want to recover my memories through psychotherapy."
My hand jerked, sending the mouse clattering to the floor.
In all these three years, I'd never lost my professional composure like this.
Maxine looked at me, his expression clouded with suspicion.
He still didn't recognize me.
Flustered, I scrambled for the mouse, only realizing my blunder after the words had already escaped me.
"Hypnotherapy... might help."
Even if I refused, he'd just find another doctor anyway.
After completing the standard intake assessment, I led him into the inner hypnosis chamber.
Maxine lay down on the bed and, under my guidance, gradually slipped into a hypnotic state.
I gazed at his peaceful, sleeping face.
And there it was, his brows and eyes, the mole by his left eyelid, and that scar along his jawline.
Every detail of his face had long ago been etched into my memory.
It had been so long, so very long, since I'd last truly looked at him.
That face, like a devil's temptation, coaxed out the greed I'd buried deep inside.
And then I made my first mistake as a therapist.
"How did you and your wife meet?"
Under hypnosis, Maxine answered without resistance,
"She's my fiancée. I fell for her six months ago.
"The moment I saw her, I knew she was the one I'd been searching for."
The image of his fiancée's face flashed through my mind, and for a moment, my breath caught.
She really looked like me.
So I couldn't help but ask more questions I shouldn't have.
But about things two years ago, I said nothing.
Because I never intended to help him remember.
After the hypnotic session concluded, Maxine drifted off into sleep.
Gazing at him, I finally dared to whisper my deep secret, "What should I do? I still love you so much."
He was sound asleep. There's no way he could've heard me.
His left hand rested at his side, two fingers missing—a glaring absence.
I sat by the hospital bed watching him, and then touched the scars before I could stop myself.
In that instant, my vision blurred.
I whispered, "That must have hurt..."
But just as my hand reached out, he suddenly grabbed my hand.