VANESSA
My head was spinning as I stepped out of Dr. Keane's office. The hypnosis session had left me drained, fragments of memories drifting through my mind like autumn leaves caught in a breeze. Brief flashes of warmth, of Roman's touch, his rare smile directed solely at me—moments I couldn't quite hold onto before they scattered.
I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of the disconnected images. Dr. Keane had warned me that recovery would be gradual, that pushing too hard could be counterproductive. But patience had never been my strong suit, especially when it came to piecing together my complicated past with Roman.
"Just a few more sessions," I muttered to myself, fumbling in my purse for my car keys.
That's when I heard it. My son's laughter—bright, unrestrained, and entirely too close to the one voice I didn't want him near.
My head snapped up, and my heart nearly stopped.
