Craving The Wrong Twin

Chapter Three

NORA

The antiseptic scent of the clinic is sharp, but comforting in its consistency. I pull my cardigan tighter as I enter my office, the quiet hum of the waiting room mixing with the faint ticking of the wall clock. Another day, another set of minds to untangle.

“Good morning, Nora!”

I glance up to see Jenna, my colleague and assistant, waving with a stack of patient files in her hands. “Early today,” she teases.

I never show up early. I don't start consultations till it's ten am, so seeing me here when it's barely nine should seem like a miracle.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I murmur, setting my bag down on my desk. My mind flits briefly to last night and Nathan, but I shove the thought away. This is work. The real world demands focus.

“I heard your husband's twin brother is in town," Jenna said as she sorted out patient files. “Heard he's hot as hell."

I raise my brow. “Where did you hear that?”

She stares at me like I just said the dumbest thing ever. " Girl, don't you listen to the news or go on social media? It's all over the Internet?”

She shows me her phone. There are pictures of Nathan taken at the airport. Some are with Duncan, while some show him alone.

Wait…

If they both landed yesterday then…where was Duncan last night? Why didn't he come home?

Most importantly, why did he lie?

Time flies quickly in a blur of gossip with Jenna. She fills me in on the latest fashion trends, which celebrity got married recently and other gossip she lived in.

The first patient arrives at exactly ten. She is a teenage girl struggling with anxiety. Her hands fidget with the hem of her sweater as she sinks into the chair across from me. She reminds me of my own self.

I lean back, keeping my voice calm and even.

“Tell me about what’s been on your mind lately,” I say softly.

Her words come shaking, a mix of fears about school and social pressures. I listen, nod, guiding her gently through cognitive exercises, grounding techniques, and small steps toward coping. By the end of the session, her shoulders are looser, her voice steadier. I feel that familiar warmth that comes with helping someone untangle the knots in their mind.

As she stepped out, I couldn't help smile.

Next is a middle-aged man recovering from a traumatic accident. He struggles with anger and depression, often lashing out at the smallest frustrations. Today, however, he’s quieter, reflective, and willing to talk. We work on identifying triggers, reframing thoughts, and practicing patience. I offer encouragement, careful to balance empathy with professional distance.

“Your father-in-law is going to be hosting a party tonight to celebrate the return of his prodigal son." Jenna's voice is a mix of excitement and surprise.

“You really should stop gossiping, Jen," I tell her while taking notes on the man's report.

“I didn't gossip." She walks over and places a cup of coffee before me. “I just happened to pass by Carine and heard her taking."

I shake my head.

It shouldn't be a big deal if my father-in-law wants to host a party for his estranged son.

The son whose touch makes my skin alive.

I push thoughts of Nathan out of my mind and focus on my patients.

By midday my schedule is full. Parents, teenagers, young adults. Each story, each struggle, adding threads to the tapestry of my day. I scribble notes between sessions, tracking progress, planning next steps, and always reminding myself: my patients’ truths are not mine, even if they echo the chaos in my own life.

As I sip my lukewarm coffee, I glance out the window, catching the bustling city below. Nathan, Duncan, the twins’ impossible dynamic; it’s all still there, gnawing at the edges of my focus.

But for now, I push it aside. The work is here, waiting, urgent, and tangible. And for the next hour, I’ll step fully into someone else’s mind, leaving my own troubles locked safely behind my office door.

~~~

I stare at the gift in Duncan’s hand and try to summon the appropriate smile.

It’s beautifully wrapped in crisp gold paper and a neat ribbon tied at the top. His usual perfection on full display. The kind of thing that looks good on the outside but somehow feels… empty.

He grins, setting it on my desk. “Happy monthly gift day,” he says proudly, like a man who just solved world hunger.

Our little ritual — one gift every month, no special occasion required — started right after our wedding. It was supposed to be our way of keeping the spark alive, a reminder that love takes effort. But lately, it feels more like a scheduled task.

I can't believe I forgot completely about it.

“Thank you,” I say softly, taking the box from him. My fingers hesitate on the ribbon before I pull it loose. Inside lies a delicate gold necklace with a small pendant shaped like a butterfly.

It’s… fine. Pretty, even. Just not me.

I’ve told him a hundred times that I prefer silver to gold, that butterflies feel too dainty, too not-my-style. But Duncan never seems to notice the little things.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, forcing a smile.

He beams. “I knew you’d like it. The lady at the store said it’s one of their most popular designs. Classic, elegant, just like you.”

Classic. Elegant. Predictable.

So not me

I swallow my sigh and set the box gently back on my desk. “Thank you, Duncan. It’s lovely.”

He steps closer and kisses my forehead, the same gentle, distant kiss that’s become our trademark. “I thought I’d surprise you before your next patient,” he says. “Dinner tonight?”

“Sure,” I reply automatically. That way I can get him a gift before the day ends.

I used to be happy picking out the perfect gift for him, but now…

He smiles, satisfied, and walks out of my office with the same confident stride that first drew me to him. The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before.

I glance down at the necklace again. It glints under the fluorescent lights; perfect, elegant.

I tuck it back into the box just as Jenna knocks and peeks her head in. “Did I see Duncan?” she asks, eyes twinkling.

I nod.

“Lucky woman,” she teases. “He’s a keeper.”

I force a small laugh. “Yeah… I guess he is.”

My desk phone rings. I answer it and hold it to my ear. “Dr. Torrance."

" Nora, I need you to hear me out. Don't be mad.” Dr Collins sounds scared and unsure. “You just got a new transfer patient. Nathan Torrance."

“What!"