So I learned how to behave. I took my medication on time, cooperated with every therapy session, and followed the treatment plan without resistance.
Little by little, their vigilance eased.
On the day I was finally discharged, Philip came to pick me up himself.
Celeste sat in the passenger seat, while my sister sat beside me in the back.
The car drove on in silence for a long time before Trisha spoke, her tone casual, almost offhand.
“Nathan,” she said, “the last time we visited you, you had already signed the divorce papers. This morning, Celeste and Philip officially registered their marriage.”
She lifted her phone and waved it in front of me.
On the screen was their wedding photo.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. I could not remember signing anything. There was no memory of it, not even a fragment.
“Stop the car,” I said.
“Nathan...” Trisha frowned impatiently. “Can you stop making a scene? Look at Philip. He has always been steady and reliable. No wonder Mom and Dad decided to hand the entire company over to him.”
My hand shot forward, gripping the back of the front seat so tightly my fingers ached.
“What about my shares?” I demanded.