The air in the dimly lit study felt thick with the scent of old paper and desperation. Seb sat hunched over his laptop, the blue light reflecting in his pupils like a cold fire. He wasn’t looking for a way to apologize; he was looking for a way to delete.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, scrolling through obscure dical forums and archived psychiatric journals. Then, he found it.
Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) and mory Dissociation: While used to treat severe depression, high-frequency application can lead to significant retrograde amnesia the permanent loss of past mories.
"That’s it," Seb whispered, his voice cracking the silence. "If she doesn’t rember the betrayal, the betrayal didn’t happen."
He picked up the phone, his voice a strained, clinical mask as he made the first call.
"Psychiatric Associates, how can I help you?"
"My na is Mr. Throne, I’m looking for a specialist in deep-mory suppression," Seb said, his voice clipped. "For a patient with... severe, life-altering trauma. I’ve read that high-frequency stimulation can induce targeted amnesia."
There was a long pause. "Sir, we use ECT for treatnt-resistant depression. We don’t use it to cause mory loss. That’s a side effect we try to avoid. It can cause permanent cognitive damage."
"That’s not a concern," Seb snapped. "I want the mory gone. Entirely."
"I’m sorry," the doctor’s tone shifted from professional to suspicious. "What you’re describing isn’t therapy. It’s a lobotomy of the past. I can’t help you." Click.
The second doctor told him he was "dangerously delusional." The fourth threatened to report the inquiry to the dical board. By the sixth call, Seb’s hand was shaking, the phone slick with sweat.
"Listen to ," Seb pleaded into the receiver of a private clinic in the outskirts. "She is in pain. The truth is killing her. If she just... forgot the last year, she’d be happy again. Isn’t that the point of dicine? To stop the suffering?"
"mory is identity, Mr. Thorne," the voice on the other end said coldly. "To strip a woman of her history, even the painful parts is to kill the person she is. I won’t be an executioner. Don’t call here again."
Seb sat in the dark for an hour, the dial tone echoing in his head. Then, his laptop chid. An encrypted email from a forum lead. "Try Dr. Aris. He doesn’t ask many questions if the wire transfer clears."
Seb dialed. The phone rang four tis before a gravelly, tired voice answered.
"Speak."
"I have a patient," Seb began, his heart hamring. "She has... information. mories that are incompatible with her survival. I need a total reset. Retrograde. Permanent."
Silence stretched over the line. Seb could hear the faint sound of a cigarette lighter flicking on the other end.
"You understand what you’re asking for?" Aris asked softly. "This isn’t a surgical strike. It’s a carpet bomb. She might forget how to read. She might forget her own na along with the ’truth’ you’re so worried about."
"I’ll teach her, her na," Seb whispered, his eyes narrowing. "I’ll teach her everything. I just need her to look at without that... that horror in her eyes."
The doctor took a long drag. "It’s a delicate setup. The equipnt needs to be modified, off-the-grid, non-standard frequencies. It’s not sothing I keep in the trunk of my car."
"How long?" Seb pressed.
"A month," Aris said. "I need thirty days to secure the drugs and the hardware without raising flags. And I’ll need half the paynt upfront. In crypto."
Seb looked toward the bedroom door. He could almost feel Amara’s hatred radiating through the wood. One month of her hating , he thought. For a lifeti of her loving again.
"Done," Seb said. "Thirty days. Get everything ready."
The island was a paradise, but for Amara, it was a tomb. Every morning, she would find a new letter tucked under her door or placed on her breakfast tray. They were written in Seb’s elegant script, the sa handwriting that used to make her heart flutter ten years ago.
He wrote about their first eting, his regrets, and his desperate, twisted vision for their future. Amara didn’t read them; she tore them up or threw them into the ocean, but Seb remained unshakable, he only need to endure it for the next 30 days.
"What do I have to do for you to stop?" Amara yelled one evening, her voice hoarse from days of silence. "There is nothing left of the woman you knew, Seb! You killed her!"
Seb stood by the mahogany dining table, his face pale and eyes sunken from lack of sleep. He looked at her with a terrifyingly calm desperation.
"If I die... will you forgive then?" he asked softly. "Will my life be enough to prove my love for you?"
Before Amara could respond, he reached for a silver steak knife on the table. With a sudden, violent motion, he turned the blade toward his own chest.
"If you want gone, I’ll go," he whispered, his hand trembling as the tip of the blade pierced his shirt. "I’ll give you the ultimate sacrifice."
Amara’s instincts took over. She lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and knocking the knife from his hand. It clattered onto the floor, the silver blade gleaming in the candlelight.
Seb looked at her, a spark of hope in his eyes. He thought her intervention ant she still cared. "You still love ," he breathed. "You couldn’t let do it."
Amara stepped back, her face hardening into a mask of ice.
"Don’t flatter yourself," she spat, her voice cold and steady. "Seb I will never forgive you for what you did to , each ti I look at you I see the lie and the betrayal, I don’t care if you die or live. I just don’t want your blood on my hands, like you have our baby’s blood on yours."
The ntion of the child they lost hit Seb like a physical blow. He flinched, his hand dropping to his side. Amara didn’t wait for a response; she turned and walked away, locking herself in her room.
But even as she left, Seb stood in the dark, a twisted smile slowly forming on his lips. She touched , he thought. She stopped . There is still hope. Once Dr. Aris make everything ready then we will be happy.
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