Chapter 2

Dr. Thorne's voice was instantly cautious, a stark contrast to my raw desperation. "Clare, you know the radical nature of what you're asking. It's still in the experimental phase."

"I don't care," I whispered, the words barely audible. "Tell me what happened, Clare. You sound like you've been through hell."

The words caught in my throat. How could I explain the utter devastation? The feeling of being erased, replaced, betrayed by the very bedrock of my existence?

"Is it Brayden?" he pressed gently. "I always worried. He seemed so... possessive."

"Brayden is a lie," I spat, the venom in my voice surprising even myself. "He's a thief. A cheat. A conniving snake."

"Clare, you're strong. You'll get through this. We can explore therapy, conventional methods..."

"No," I cut him off, my voice steely. "I want it gone. All of it. The memories. The pain. The person I was with him. I want to be someone else. Someone new."

"Are you talking about the full identity wipe? The cognitive restructuring?" Thorne's voice grew grave. "That's an entirely different beast, Clare. It's permanent. There are no guarantees."

"I understand permanent," I said, a chilling calm settling over me. "What about the memory part? The... selective amnesia. Is that possible with the identity change?"

Thorne was silent for a long moment. "That's the 'special element' we discussed hypothetically. It's designed to sever emotional ties, to create a blank slate, a new core identity. But it's risky, Clare. Unpredictable. You could lose more than just painful memories. You could lose pieces of who you fundamentally are."

"Good," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "The person I was... she was a fool. I volunteer. Sign me up."

My stomach churned, but a perverse sense of justice fueled me. This wasn't just about escape. It was about absolute, unequivocal obliteration of their victory. They wanted to erase my legacy? I would erase myself from their lives.

"Clare, I need more time to assess," Thorne insisted, his voice firm. "We need to prepare. This isn't a hasty decision."

"It is for me," I retorted, my voice rising. "Every second I breathe the same air as him, pretend everything is fine... it's a living death. Either you help me disappear, or I'll find another way to make myself vanish. Permanently."

A sigh. Heavy. Resigned. "Alright, Clare. Come to my clinic tomorrow morning. Early. We'll talk. But I'm warning you, this could be the most dangerous thing you've ever done."

"I've already faced the most dangerous thing," I said, my voice flat. "It looked like love."

I hung up. The decision was made. Irreversible.

I crept back into bed, feigning sleep. Brayden would be back soon. I practiced my breathing, slow and even, trying to still the tremors in my hands.

The door creaked open. Brayden. I felt him slip under the covers. The familiar weight next to me was now repulsive.

A faint, cloying scent of another perfume clung to him. Cheap. Sweet. Holly's. My stomach lurched.

I instinctively flinched when his hand brushed my hip. A small, involuntary movement.

"Clare?" he mumbled, his voice thick with fake sleep. "Are you alright, love? You feel tense."

"Just a bad dream," I whispered, turning away from him. My voice was a stranger's.

"Poor thing," he murmured, pulling me closer. His arm wrapped around me, a possessive weight. "Don't worry, I'm here. Always."

Lies. All of it. But soon, these lies would be wiped clean. I would be cleansed. I imagined the new life, the new name, the new face. Janet Anderson. A blank canvas.

I lay there, rigid, pretending to sleep, listening to his even breaths, waiting for the first hint of dawn. He was so oblivious. So convinced of his own cleverness.

When I heard him leave for his morning run, I bolted from bed. A long, scalding shower. I scrubbed my skin raw, trying to wash away his touch, the phantom scent of her perfume.

I walked into the kitchen. Holly was already there, perched on a stool, stirring her coffee. She smiled, a bright, innocent facade.

"Morning, Clare! Brayden just left. He said he'd make us his special omelets when he gets back."

Brayden appeared then, a picture of domestic bliss, jogging back through the door, scent of fresh air and deceit clinging to him. "My two favorite women! What can I get for you, my love?" he asked me, kissing my forehead. Then, with a wink, "And you, little sister, hungry?"

"Always!" Holly chirped, batting her eyelashes. "You're the best, Brayden."

"He certainly is," I said, my voice flat, but with an underlying current that even I didn't recognize. "The very best at what he does."

Brayden beamed, oblivious to the double meaning. "See? Clare appreciates my talents, too."

"Indeed," I said, pouring myself a glass of water. "I was just wondering, Brayden. Would you ever... leave me?"

He froze, his hand mid-air as he reached for the eggs. Holly's smile faltered.

"Clare! What a question," he laughed, but it was forced. "Of course not, my love. Never. We're a team. Always." He took a step towards me, his eyes wide, a practiced sincerity plastered on his face. "You're my world."

My eyes flickered to Holly, who was now staring at her coffee cup, her knuckles white.

"And if you did?" I pressed, my voice unnervingly calm. "If, hypothetically, you were to betray me, to leave me for someone else... what would I do then?"

Brayden barked a laugh, a loud, dismissive sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. "Don't be ridiculous, Clare. That's never going to happen. We're solid. Forever." He reached for me, but I stepped back. "Why are you asking this?"

"Just curious," I said, watching his face. "Because if you ever left me, if you ever truly broke my heart... I think I'd just disappear. I'd erase myself. Every trace of the woman who loved you would be gone."

He chuckled again, a little too loudly this time. "You're being dramatic, my love. No one can just 'erase' themselves."

"Oh, but they can," I said, a slow, chilling smile spreading across my face. "They absolutely can."