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I stood up, walked over to my diffuser, and poured some oils into it. Olivia walked in and handed me the key to my locked drawer.
“I want to start seeing patients again, but only two a day. Since I can’t remember any of my patients, I’ll need time to review their files and my notes.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “I’ll start making some calls. I don’t know if this could help you or not, but you’re in the middle of treating a patient with amnesia.”
“I am?” My brows furrowed.
“Yeah. Her name is Willow Young, and she’s seventeen years old. You were treating her before her accident. You might want to take a look at her file.”
“Thanks, Olivia.”
I glanced at the paper with my passwords on it and logged into my computer. The first thing I saw was the picture of Conner and me that I had set as my wallpaper. I typed in Willow’s name in the search bar, and her file popped up. Clicking on it, I reviewed my notes. Before her accident, she was being treated for bulimia and anorexia. She was a gymnast and hit her head on the balance beam while doing a flip, causing her amnesia and loss of identity.
“Shit. This poor girl.”
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Flashes began going off in my head, so I did what Dr. Bancroft told me to. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, breathing through each flash. My eyes flew open as I stared down at the bottom drawer of my desk. I remembered something. I placed a brown leather journal in that drawer. Picking the key up from the desk, I unlocked the drawer and dug through it, finding the journal buried under several file folders. Taking it out, I opened to the first page.
My life could change in a split second, and Willow Young’s accident showed me that. She is the first patient I’m treating who is suffering at the hands of amnesia. She had no idea who she was when she woke up from her accident—seventeen years gone as if she didn’t exist. I’m helping her cope with it, which made me realize that it could happen to anyone at any time. Life as we know it could disappear, leaving us with a hole in our souls. I’m writing down bits and pieces of my life in case something happens to me. It’s highly unlikely, but one never knows what any day could bring.
Dear Dr. Charlotte Roman,
You are a clinical psychologist and a survivor of a traumatic event caused by your mentally ill brother, who is now deceased. You’ve healed yourself from your childhood trauma by dedicating your life to psychology. You’re also involved with a man who loves you more than life itself. A man who accepts you for who you are and who has also helped you heal from your past—a man you love more than anything in the entire world. His name is Dr. Conner Kind, and his office is down the hall. The two of you live together in a beautiful beach house in Venice. He can be a handful at times, but he’s your world, and you love him, flaws and all. He brings out the best in you, makes you incredibly happy, and knows you better than you know yourself. You’re still waiting for his dumbass to propose, but you know he will when the time is right. The only thing you see when you think about your future is the life you built together and the beautiful children you will have. P.S. He’s sexy as sin, and he will piss you off at times. But it doesn’t matter because even when you’re pissed at him, you find him sexier and love him a little more. Don’t ask why because you’re still trying to figure that part out.
If the time ever comes, I hope you find this, and it lessens your fears about a past you cannot remember.
Your past self,
Dr. Charlotte Roman
“Jesus Christ.” I wiped the tears that fell from my eyes.
I couldn’t believe I’d written this.
“Olivia!” I shouted.
“Yes, Charlotte?” She ran into my office.
“When did I write this? I didn’t write a date down.” I handed her my journal.
She read it and looked up at me. “I don’t know. About eight months ago, you mentioned that you were thinking about doing something like this because of what happened to Willow. I didn’t know you actually did.”
* * *
Conner
I was sitting in my office when Jackson walked in.
“I don’t have time, Jackson. I’m busy,” I spoke.
“How long are you going to stay mad at me?”
“Maybe the rest of my life. I really don’t know.”
“Bro, I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said.
“Nothing can hurt me more than I already am. You’re my brother. You’re supposed to be here for me.”
“I am here for you! I always have been and always will be. I want you to be prepared if Charlotte refuses to marry you in September. God damn, bro. It could take years for her to heal from this. I’m not saying she won’t fall in love with you again. I just think you’re expecting too much too soon, and I don’t—”
