Chapter 2

Dr. Ben met me in a quiet corner of a cafe I' d never been to before. He looked at me, his eyes full of a deep, professional sadness. He didn't try to talk me out of it, he simply listened as I explained the hollow ache where my heart used to be. He knew I was beyond conventional therapy.

"This is not a perfect science, Ava," he warned, sliding a small, unmarked vial of clear liquid across the table. "It's a high-dosage amnesiac. It targets trauma-associated memories first, but the effects can be... unpredictable. It might not erase everything perfectly. There could be gaps, or phantom feelings."

"I don't care," I said, my voice flat. I took the vial, my fingers closing around the cool glass. It felt like a key. "I just want the pain to stop."

"Seven doses," he instructed. "One a day. By the seventh day, the process should be complete. And Ava... get out. Don't just erase the memories, erase the place. Go somewhere he can never find you."

I nodded, clutching the vial. "I have a plane ticket. For tomorrow night."

I went back to the house, the grand, empty mansion that now felt like a mausoleum. My plan was simple: pack a small bag, take my son's ashes, and leave forever. I needed to take the first dose of the medication before I lost my nerve. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

To my horror, Liam was there, leaning against the counter as if he'd been waiting for me. He offered me a small, sad smile. "Ava. I was worried. You've been so distant."

My whole body tensed. "I'm just tired, Liam."

"I know this has been hard," he said, his voice dripping with a sympathy that made my skin crawl. "I made you some chamomile tea. To help you relax." He pushed a steaming mug towards me. It smelled sweet and calming.

For a split second, I saw the man I thought I'd married, the man who would have done anything to soothe my pain. My resolve wavered. Maybe... maybe he was grieving too. I took a hesitant sip. It was just tea. I drank half the mug, the warmth spreading through my chest, and I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me, so heavy I had to grip the counter to stay upright.

"What..." I mumbled, my vision blurring at the edges. "What was in that?"

Liam's expression shifted, the mask of concern melting away to reveal the cold, calculating man beneath. "Just a mild sedative. To help you rest. You've been under so much stress, my love."

The term of endearment was a grotesque mockery. Panic flared, but my limbs felt like lead. I stumbled, and he caught me, his grip like iron.

"What have you done, Liam?" I slurred, the room spinning.

"I'm just taking care of you," he said, his voice smooth as silk as he guided me to a chair. "Chloe is moving in permanently. She's so worried about you, and frankly, so am I. In your fragile state, you need constant supervision. She's going to help me look after you."

The drugged tea wasn't an act of kindness, it was an act of control. He was trapping me here, turning me into a prisoner in my own home, all for Chloe. The back door opened, and Chloe walked in, pulling a small suitcase behind her. She was wearing one of my cashmere sweaters, a soft grey one Liam had bought for me in Paris. It hung loosely on her thin frame.

She rushed to my side, her face a perfect picture of sweet solicitude. "Oh, Ava, you look so pale! Don't you worry, I'm here now. I'll take care of everything. Liam and I will make sure you're safe." Her words were honey-laced poison, a declaration of victory. She had won. She had my husband, my home, and now she was my keeper. The humiliation was a physical thing, a burning fire in my gut. Her eyes, full of fake pity, met mine, and in their depths, I saw pure, triumphant malice.

The next few days were a living nightmare. I was a ghost in my own house, watched constantly by Chloe, who treated me like a difficult child. She would bring me meals on a tray, cooing about how I needed to keep my strength up. Liam was always at her side, his hand on her back, looking at her with a sick, paternal adoration that made me want to scream. I pretended to be weak and compliant, biding my time, secretly taking the first dose of Dr. Ben's amnesiac with a glass of water I snuck from the bathroom. The forgetting couldn't start soon enough.

One evening, Chloe came to my room with a bowl of soup. "I made your favorite, Ava," she said, her voice cloyingly sweet. "Creamy tomato. Just like you used to make."

I was suspicious, but I was also hungry. I took a spoonful. The taste was... off. It was strangely sweet, with a texture that was both smooth and slightly gritty. It was sickeningly familiar. My stomach churned. I took another small taste, trying to place it. And then I knew. My blood ran cold. It wasn't just tomato soup. She had mixed in jars of pureed carrots, the organic baby food I had bought for Leo. The food he never got to finish.

A wave of nausea and pure, unadulterated rage washed over me. This wasn't just an insult, it was a desecration of my most sacred memory. The memory of feeding my son, of his tiny, happy gurgles. She had taken that precious memory and twisted it into something foul and disgusting.

I shot out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and vomited violently into the toilet. I retched until my stomach was empty, collapsing onto the cold tile floor, sobbing with a grief so profound it felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside. She had found the one thing I had left of him, a memory, and she had defiled it.

The bathroom door burst open. It was Liam. He saw me on the floor, the mess in the toilet bowl, and his face hardened into a mask of pure fury. Chloe was right behind him, her eyes wide with fake innocence.

"What is wrong with you?" Liam snarled, his voice a low growl. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't ask what happened. He just saw the scene and judged me instantly. "Chloe makes you a nice meal, and this is how you react? You are deliberately trying to hurt her feelings!"

"She... she put Leo's baby food in it," I choked out, tears and bile mixing in my throat.

Chloe gasped, putting a hand to her chest. "Liam, I would never! I just used a little extra sugar, I know she likes it sweet. She's making things up again. She's trying to turn you against me."

Liam's face was unyielding. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, and hauled me to my feet. "You will apologize to Chloe right now," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. He didn't believe me. Of course, he didn't. In his eyes, Chloe was the victim, and I was the hysterical, ungrateful monster. The pain of his betrayal was a physical blow, knocking the last of the air from my lungs.