My brain is intact in the traditional way; I did not fall from a roof, though it seems I fell at some height from reality. Dr. Steinbridge has diagnosed me with a list of things I’d be embarrassed to repeat; the bottom line is that I have an unhealthy brain. I often sit in my room and picture my brain enflamed and oozing with my various diagnoses. There are days where I want to crack my own head open and remove my brain, and I find myself fantasizing about all the ways I can do it. I want to get better, but sometimes I can’t even remember what’s wrong with me. I am in my room one afternoon when I look up and see Dr. Steinbridge standing in the doorway. The serious look on his face tells me he has news.

“Regina Coele has requested a visit with you,” he tells me. “You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”

I’m touched; his interest in my case has become more tender than the stiff, formal way our relationship started.

“I want to talk to her,” I say. And it’s true—I’ve been waiting for this for a year, wading through the days until I could come face-to-face with the answers Seth’s first wife holds.

“I’ll put in the approval form. I think this may really help you, Thursday. To put things into perspective and to move forward.”

It’s two weeks before a nurse comes to tell me that Regina is here to see me. My heart pounds as I walk to the rec room, wearing sweats and a tank top, my hair piled on top of my head in a messy knot. When I glanced at myself in the mirror before leaving my room I looked relaxed...pretty, even.

Regina is dressed smartly in a button-down shirt and dress pants, her hair pulled away from her face in a chignon. I make my way over to where she sits, smiling at some of the nurses as I pass them.

“Hello, Thursday,” she says.

She eyes me up and down, a look of surprise on her face. She was expecting a mess. I am not a mess. I do yoga every day, and I eat my fruits and veggies—I’ve even been sleeping well. My body is healthy even if my mind is not. I slide into the seat opposite her and offer a smile. I imagine it’s a peaceful smile because I’m no longer twisting and turning with apprehension.

“Hi,” I say.

I’ve thought about Regina almost every day since coming back to Queen County. The thoughts aren’t angry or mean; it’s more of a distant curiosity. I am too medicated to be angry at this point.

Her nostrils flare as she watches me, both of us so carefully waiting for the other to speak.

“How have you been?” Icebreaker words!

I divert. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t really know,” she says. “I guess I wanted to see how you were.”

“To make yourself feel better or worse?”

Her pale skin flushes, strawberry-red patches appearing on her cheeks and chin. Regina’s game had a steep price; she may have meant to punish me, but Seth and Hannah will be paying for the rest of their lives.

“Both, I suppose. I never intended for things to go as far as they did...”

“Then why?” I ask.

“You ruined my life. I wanted you to pay for that.”

My thoughts run ahead, spiral back and then sink into a mire of remorse and guilt. I hadn’t known I was ruining her life...or had I? The reality I made up ruined everyone’s lives, but Regina wasn’t as innocent as Hannah had been. She’d used my weakness against me; she’d set me up.

“Well, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she says finally. “I suppose I did.”

I’d been so eager to blame someone for the death of my baby that I’d never questioned her story, and Regina, so eager to punish me, had never imagined the outcome it would have.

“I knew you had issues with mental health, but I had no idea the stories you made up in your own head—about the polygamy.”

I look away, ashamed. Shame is a powerful reality check. Dr. Steinbridge said that it was shame that caused me to create my alternate state of reality. I was good enough for Seth to fuck, his mistress for both of his marriages, but not good enough to love.

The doctor is teaching me to cope with my shame, to deal with it. “Make decisions you can live with...” he says to me.

“I wanted to make you look crazy. I didn’t know you were crazy.”

I bristle at that. “You think you’re not?” I shoot back. “You think it’s normal to do what you did? I may be the one in here, but at least I can admit what I did. You told me he scared you to get me to further believe he was abusing Hannah. You made me believe he’d caused your miscarriage and mine. All to get me to go there that night.”

She stares at me, her mouth thinning into a straight line of denial. Of course she didn’t want to think she was as bad as me. I didn’t want to think of myself as the other woman; denial is a twisted, perverted soul-thinner.

“You’re the one who brought the gun. You shot Seth,” she hisses. “I wanted you punished for ruining my life—I didn’t want Seth to get hurt.”

I’m enraged by the disgust I hear in her voice. I close my eyes, willing myself not to be angry. I hear Dr. Steinbridge’s words: “You are only responsible for yourself.”

“Yes. But you could have helped me and you chose to use me instead. You handed me the delusion.”

Regina’s face is a mask of self-righteousness. My insides ignite, fingertips tingling. Seth and Hannah did not deserve what happened to them. Seth was a cheater; he’d had an affair with me when he was married to Regina, and then, when I couldn’t have his children, he’d moved on to someone else: Hannah. But he’d continued his affair with me even after he’d married Hannah. The rejection had caused me to lose touch with reality. Seth would never walk again; my bullet passed through his spine. He would never chase their child across a park, walk her down the aisle... I am responsible for that. The pain of realization hurts my stomach.

“Were you lying when you told me that Seth was violent with you? You said he pushed you against a wall...”

“No, that wasn’t a lie,” she says. “Seth has a temper.”

My ear stings; it always stings when I think of Seth. I think of Hannah and her bruises, once again wondering if she was lying to protect him. I suppose I’ll never know the truth. There’s comfort in knowing he’s in a wheelchair. He’d not be able to hurt a woman physically again, and his days of cheating are over.

“I’m glad we both got away from him,” I say.

“No, no, no,” Regina says. “This isn’t a little club. I’m not like you.” She laughs. “You’re crazy.”