The Hills Clinic, Castle Hill, Sydney — September 10th, 2008.
Afternoon, around 12 P.M.
The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and cheap tea. Daniel sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, his knees bouncing slightly. Claire sat beside him, silent but steady, her hand resting gently on his.
The walls were soft green, soothing, and impersonal. A small bookshelf stood in the corner, filled with psychology texts and a few children's drawings—probably from patients, probably meant to make the place feel less clinical. Daniel's eyes didn't settle on anything for long.
Then the door opened.
Dr. Eleanor Greene stepped in. Early-50s, calm face, sharp but kind eyes with wire-frame glasses on. She wore no white coat, just a soft grey cardigan over her blouse, like someone ready for a long conversation rather than a diagnosis.
"Daniel, Claire," she greeted with a nod. "Please, feel comfortable."
Claire gave Daniel's hand a light squeeze. He swallowed hard and nodded.
Once seated across from them, Dr. Greene didn't start with list of questions. She just folded her hands.
"I've been briefed a little. But I'd like to hear from you, Daniel. Anything you're comfortable saying."
Daniel exhaled, trying to find words.
"I don't know what's real anymore," he said finally, eyes fixed on the floor. "Sometimes I wake up and things are different. Clothes, bruises, places I don't remember being. It's like I'm living someone else's life when I'm not paying attention."
Dr. Greene didn't interrupt. Just continued to listen.
Claire spoke up gently. "He's been disappearing for hours. Coming home with injuries. Confused about things he should remember. It's getting worse."
Dr. Greene nodded slowly. "Have you ever had long periods of time you don't remember? Hours, maybe a full day?"
Daniel hesitated. "Sometimes…I think so. But I thought I was just tired. Maybe overworked and stressed."
"Do you feel like…there's another version of you doing things while you're not aware?"
Daniel's jaw clenched. "I don't know. I see things that don't add up. Smells on my clothes. People I don't recognize act like they know me."
Dr. Greene leaned forward a little, her voice still calm. "Has anyone ever mentioned you acting differently? Not just tired or irritated—I mean, really different?"
Claire nodded. "Yes. Ethan asked once why Daddy was acting like a stranger. He laughed too loud. Used words Daniel never uses."
Daniel closed his eyes.
Dr. Greene wrote something down. "I want to be careful with words here. I'm not labeling anything. But what you're describing…might be signs of dissociative identity disruption. Sometimes, under intense emotional or psychological stress—especially prolonged stress—the mind can fracture to protect itself. Create compartments."
Daniel looked up, eyes wide. "Are you saying I'm…broken?"
"No," Dr. Greene said firmly. "I'm saying you've survived something. And your mind did what it had to. But now it's time to bring it back together."
After digesting what Dr. Greene said for a while, Daniel asked. "Am I dangerous?"
Claire turned to him, eyes glassy. "No. You are not. You are just hurt."
Dr. Greene gave a soft smile. "You're already healing, Daniel. Because you're here."