I press the button and wait impatiently for the elevator doors to creak open. I don't know why I'm so anxious to return to my apartment. There is nothing and nobody there for me. At least not since he left, taking with him my money, my life, my heart- and even my dog.
My head throbs from a long day at work, from listening to the complaints of patients and feigning sympathy. I am tired, tired of having to assume a warm, understanding facade and pretend to comprehend the miseries of others. Once again, I wonder why I had wanted so much to be a psychologist.
I am sure that life was not always as bleak as it seems now. Once, I was happy. But that was before he came, before he began weaving his web of deceit around me.
Even now, I wonder how I could have been so foolish to believe him. Why did I let myself fall for his sugar-coated, empty promises? How did I not see that his love for me was never genuine, that all along, it was the money he was pursuing?

The elevator doors finally clang open. I step toward the elevator but, with my eyes lowered, collide with someone who is just disembarking.
"Emma," a friendly voice says, and strong hands grasp my shoulders to steady me. I look up into the eyes of my neighbor, a kind elderly gentleman named Mr. Suitor.
"Mr. Suitor, how are you?" I ask, resuming the painted mask of pleasantry on my face.
Mr. Suitor stares at me, an odd glint in his eyes. "I haven't changed any since the last time you asked me a few minutes ago."
I stare back at him, bewildered. "What do you mean?"
"I just ran into you upstairs. You said hello to me before you went into your apartment. I must say that you sure looked very happy. It's about time you forgot about that nasty boy."
I ignore his last remark. "Mr. Suitor, I have not been to my apartment since this morning."
Mr. Suitor frowns. "Dear, I may be old, but I'm not blind or daft. I even remember complimenting you on your jacket, the same one you have on right now."
I thank Mr. Suitor and wish him goodbye. Then, finding the elevator doors closed again and too agitated to wait, I dash for the stairs.
 
I try my apartment door and sigh in relief upon finding that it is still firmly locked. Perhaps Mr. Suitor actually did not see anyone entering. For a moment, I experience a sensation of paranoia, but I quickly shoulder it aside.
I unlock the door and step inside. The scene that greets my eyes leaves me completely speechless.
Gone is the mountain of greasy dishes that had cluttered the sink just this morning. Gone are the heaps of folders and papers strewn haphazardly over the counters. Instead, sparkling-clean dishes line the dish rack like soldiers, and a tray of freshly baked cookies rests on the kitchen table.
A flash of movement from the corner of my eye seizes my attention, and I glance up to see a woman standing in the doorway.
For several seconds, I can't do anything but gape, for the woman I see is the spitting image of me. In fact, I could have been looking at my reflection in a mirror. My unruly copper hair, narrow face, and pale eyes….every feature of the woman is identical to mine. Even our outfits are indistinguishable from the other.
The woman does not speak. She only stares back at me, a mournful expression on her face. Finally, I shake off enough of the stupor to break the deadening silence.
"W-who are you?" I ask.
"You don't recognize me, Emma?" the woman asks, and even her voice is the same as mine.
I shake my head.
"I thought it was obvious," the woman sighs, clearly disappointed. "I am you, or at least you before all this mess began."
I stare at her, uncomprehending.
"Emma, it's time to move on. It's been almost a year," the woman says in a pleading voice. "You need to forget about him."
I realize what she is talking about, and my expression turns stony. "Why should I listen to you? You said you were me before it happened….How would you know what I experienced?"
"Because I am you. We are one. Your experiences are mine, and mine are yours."
"You lie," I growl. "Why should I believe you?"
"That doesn't matter," the woman says urgently. "What does matter is that you do not have much time. Our creators," she pauses and gestures skyward, "are not happy with us, with you. You have been wallowing too much. You are dwelling so excessively on the shadows of the past that you have neglected the gifts of the present."
I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand to stop me. "I totally understand how you feel," she says. "He lied to you, he stole from you. He almost cost you your job and your reputation. You have every right to be angry, but you don't have any right to stay angry."
I shake my head, unable to speak as my throat constricts and tears trickle from my eyes. Memories that I had tried so hard to suppress rush back to my consciousness.
Once again, I see him on the day he left. Standing before me, in freshly ironed clothes and shouldering the bag containing all of his belongings, he sneered at me. There was no semblance of the man I had fallen in love with. "You're a fool if you thought I actually loved you. I thought you were supposed to be an expert on human behavior. You're a miserable failure of a psychologist." Those were his parting words.
"Well, are you ready to let go of the past?" the woman's voice cuts through my thoughts, yanking me back to the present.
I do not respond. The woman senses my hesitation, and she sighs. "Very well. You had your last chance. I am so sorry, but this must be done. We cannot remain bound to the woes of the past. One of us must look forward."
And finally I understand. "Please, no, I don't want to go anywhere. I'll do anything," I plead. "I'll change!"
The woman smiles sadly but otherwise does not acknowledge me. She turns away.
My limbs suddenly collapse, and I see nothing more.