"And during those eighteen months," Diane asked, "that's when the medical intervention began? When Dr. Thorpe entered the picture?"
I let out a soft, dry laugh that had a edge of irony to it. "How much time do you have, Diane?"
I paused, wiping my palms against the fabric of my slacks—a small, human gesture that felt more honest than any polished answer. "Dr. Thorpe actually came toward the end. The nightmare started much earlier with isolation. He cut me off from my family and my friends, one thread at a time. Back then, I didn't see the pattern. I didn't know what he was doing, but I see it with terrifying clarity now."
Diane leaned in, her pen poised over her notepad. "He was clearing the stage?"
"He wanted me away from everyone," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "He wanted to m
