My boyfriend died on a mission, and I, a trauma therapist, dedicated five years to piecing his shattered brother, Ethan, back together, even marrying him out of what I thought was love.
Then, Sarah Jenkins appeared, a spitting image of Ethan' s deceased first love, and everything shattered. His dependency shifted, violent episodes returned, and my years of dedicated support became "clinical" in his eyes.
During a severe episode, I tried to help, only for him to turn on me, his hands reaching for my throat. Sarah, with a performance of gentle concern, instantly calmed him, making my efforts seem worthless. He even accused me of setting him off, claiming Sarah "knew how to handle him."
The next day, at our home, Sarah orchestrated a twisted scene, making it seem I' d attacked her. Ethan, blinded by her act, choked me, then screamed at me to get out of "his house." He played the devoted partner to her, while I was left bleeding and heartbroken.
I was discarded like trash, realizing I no longer mattered to the man I sacrificed everything for. There was nothing left for me here.
The phone rang. It was Director Thompson. "I'm in," I said, my voice hollow. "When do I start?"
