She reached for the timeline we’d created together—a therapy tool meant to sort out the chaos and lay it down in a clear, linear order. I hated it. Not the tool itself, but what it suggested. And Cynthia knew I did. Her fingers paused on the folder, pulled it out halfway, then tucked it back in.
“These hallucinations—”
“They’re not hallucinations,” I corrected her. “I’m not crazy. I’m not seeing things. I’m not hearing voices. The doctor said I have NREM parasomnias.Confusion arousal, sleep terrors, and sleepwalking. I wake up confused. It’s from the nightmares and only happens after I wake up.”
She nodded.
The wall clock ticked steadily, filling the pause between us
“And it all started again about three years ago, right?” she finally asked. “And got even worse about six months ago?”
I didn’t answer. She knew why.
Her voice softened even more. “Emily, I’m not saying Daniel is bad for you. How could I? I’ve seen how happy you two are together. But we can’t ignore the fact that your nightmares came back for the first time in over a decade right after you met him.”
“I thought we agreed it’s because I feel unworthy of him,” I said, forcing conviction into my voice. “That I’m so undeserving of love, my mind twists it into fear. I turn my anxiety into dreams. Doubt. Nightmares.”
I sounded like I was trying to convince her. Maybe I was.
“So, you still worry he might not be real?”
“I know he’s real,” I said. And I did. At least in that moment. At that time, sitting there, no part of me doubted Daniel’s existence. The penthouse, the life we’d built together. Real. No need to mention that I’d replayed last night’s recording that morning in the bathroom, just to be sure. It was Cynthia’s technique. Hallucinations don’t replay. Real voices do.
“Of course, he’s real. But so are your fears. They’re real too, Emily.”
I nodded.
“Have you had any luck meeting his friends or extended family?”
“His parents died in a car crash.”
“I know. But what about uncles? Aunts? Cousins? Friends?”
“He doesn’t like talking about it. Because he doesn’t have anyone. Just like me.”
“But you do have family. You’ve just chosen to cut contact.”
“And if he did the same with his extended family, I’m sure he had a reason to do so. Why push him to talk about a painful past. Daniel is kind. Strong. The best man I know. I trust him.”
“He is. And I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m just looking at the pattern. The nightmares didn’t come back out of nowhere. They started when you met him. And they completely spiraled the week you moved in together.”
“Stress triggers it. Even good stress. Falling in love, getting married—that’s pressure too. My low self-worth latches onto it and spins. I think I don’t deserve him, so my brain plays tricks on me. Makes me question what’s real.”
“That’s possible. But I still think it would help if we learned a little more about his past. Who he is.”
I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound like we married overnight in Vegas. We met at coffee shops for months before we even went on a real date. Then three years of dating. Nobody calls that rushing.”
“I don’t either,” she said. “But it might help ease your fears if you knew a little more about his past. Or if he came to a session with you.”
“No.”
And I meant it. She’d brought it up before, and my answer was always the same. Bringing Daniel so Cynthia might interrogate him was not an option.
We stared at each other in a familiar standoff. Cynthia always respected my boundaries, but lately, her concern had sharpened. More urgency. More push.
She adjusted her position in her chair, leaning forward slightly.
“Do you . . . remember my brother?” she asked. Carefully.
