The Love He Erased Chapter 06

The Love He Erased Chapter 06

Dr. Mara Chen did not ask Grant what he wanted.

She asked me.

“What do you want from today’s evaluation, Mrs. Whitaker?”

Grant shifted in the chair beside me. “We want to understand what happened.”

Dr. Chen looked at him over her glasses. “I asked your wife.”

Grant closed his mouth.

“I want a straight answer,” I said.

“Even if it’s not comforting?”

“Yes.”

Her office had no fountain, no soft music, no white roses. Just books, two chairs, and a window over a busy

street.

Grant had called her “our last chance” in the car.

I let him.

Correcting him felt like work.

Dr. Chen reviewed my records for nearly an hour. She asked about the airport, the clinic, Zurich, Harper, Vanessa, the miscarriage, my marriage.

I answered everything.

Grant watched every answer like a door might open if I got enough of them right.

At last, Dr. Chen set the tablet down.

“Mrs. Whitaker has no global memory impairment. Her factual recall is clear.”

Grant leaned forward. “Then why can’t she feel anything?”

“Because her emotional attachment response appears to have shut down around the people linked to the

trauma.”

Grant stared. “Which people?”

“You and your daughter.”

He stood so quickly the chair legs scraped the floor.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not a punishment. It’s a survival response.”

“She loves Harper.”

“She remembers loving Harper.”

“You’re saying a mother can stop loving her child?”

“I’m saying a person can stop feeling safe with people she once loved.”

Grant sat down slowly.

His hands were shaking.

“What do we do?” he asked.

“You stop asking her to perform feelings she doesn’t have.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s the first step.”

“I need to fix this.”

Dr. Chen’s voice cooled. “She is not a machine you adjusted and now regret breaking.”

Grant looked at me.

I looked back.

Dr. Chen asked, “Do you want to remain married to him?”

“No.”

Grant’s face changed. “Elise.”

“Do you feel pressured to say that?” Dr. Chen asked.

“No.”

Grant rubbed both hands over his face. “We came here for help.”

“I know,” I said.

“Then let me help.”

“You can.”

He looked up too fast.

“Sign the divorce papers when they arrive.”

That night, Grant found the Harper binder.

I had left it in the hall closet years ago. Blue cover, cracked spine, her name written on masking tape.

When I came downstairs, he was sitting on the kitchen floor with pages spread around him.

Medication lists.

Emergency contacts.

Teacher emails.

Birthday notes.

What helped during thunderstorms.

What not to say when Harper thought other girls were prettier.

The foods she said she hated but ate when Grant was not home.

The foods she pretended to like because Grant liked them.

Every page was my handwriting.

Grant turned the last page.

There was a note at the back.

If something happens to me, please don’t let Harper think I left her.

He pressed his hand over his mouth.

I stayed by the stairs.

He looked up at me. His face was wet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yes.”

“You thought about that?”

“I thought about everything.”

His shoulders shook once. “You loved us that much.”

“Yes.”

“And I called it control.”

I did not answer.

He looked back down at the binder. “I called it suffocating.”

“Yes.”

He bent over the pages and cried.

The sound was ugly and real.

The old me would have gone to him.

The woman standing on the stairs only held the railing until her hand stopped shaking.