Therapy—Week Three.
Dr. Greene tapped her pen twice on her notebook before speaking.
"Did you sleep well this week?"
Daniel shrugged. "I sleep…less like someone else would take my place if I closed my eyes. So, better?"
She paused for a second.
"Did the…other side appear?" Dr. Greene asked.
Daniel shook his head. "No. But it's like…I still feel him breathing over my shoulder. Like he's just behind the curtain, waiting."
Dr. Greene leaned forward slightly. "Do you think he's dangerous?"
He hesitated.
"I think he was scared of something. I don't know what, but he reacted like the only way to survive was to become untouchable.
"That doesn't sound like danger. That sounds like pain."
Daniel looked down at his hands, clasped tight. "Maybe that's what I've been running from."
She gave Daniel a little time before continuing.
"Do you want to stop running?" she asked.
He didn't answer for a while. Then softly. "I don't know who I'll be if I do."
Dr. Greene didn't write anything.
She just said, "that's where we begin."
Therapy—Week Four.
Daniel sat with a notebook on his lap this time. No one asked him to do so.
"I started writing him letters," he said.
Dr. Greene didn't interrupt, letting him continue.
"I don't send them anywhere, obviously. I just…I wrote what I want to say. Like I'm talking to a flatmate I've never seen."
He opened the notebook and flipped through pages, finger tracing words.
"Did you give him a name?" She asked gently.
Daniel let out a breath. "I don't plan to. It just showed up in the writing. Over and over again. Danny."
After a long pause.
"I used to get called like that in college," he added.
"Did you like it?"
"No. It was who I was before…all this. Before responsibility, before being a husband, a father. Danny got into fights. Danny disappeared for days. Danny laughed too hard and cared too little."
"And you became Daniel."
He nodded.
"And now Danny's come back."
He looked up, eyes a little red. "But he came back when I was cracking. When everything was slipping and I couldn't keep up."
"And maybe he thought he was helping," she said.
Daniel didn't speak. He just closed the notebook and whispered, "Maybe."
Therapy—Week Five.
Daniel sat cross-legged this time. Not comfortable—just restless. He looked at his hands, flexed his fingers, then said.
"Can I ask something stupid?"
Dr. Greene nodded.
"What If…I was always him? I mean—what if there was never was a split, just me, edited for daytime?"
"Say more."
Daniel took a deep breath. "I keep thinking about things. Not big things—stupid ones. Like…music I used to like, before I got married. Fights I used to pick, like I was testing people."
He stared at the floor.
"I don't know who's the real me. Was I pretending to be a good guy all this time? Did I just bury that version of myself?"
"Or," Dr. Greene said, "did that part of you freeze, waiting for permission to exist again?"
Daniel's jaw tightened. "He didn't ask for permission."
"No. But maybe he thought you couldn't handle the weight on your own."
Daniel fell silent for a while before asking. "Can two people carry life?"
Dr. Greene looked at him, not smiling.
"They'll have to learn to. If they want to live."
Daniel rubbed his eyes, voice suddenly rough.
"What if I liked being him sometimes? What if that terrified me?"
"That's not failure, Daniel," she said. "That's honesty."