Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace

Chapter 302

When I was five, Mom and Dad told me I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. All I knew about it was that it supposedly meant you were a loner with an off-the-charts IQ.

Scratching my head, I wondered, am I really one of those reclusive geniuses? As for my smarts... they seemed pretty average to me. Remembering high school, poring over textbooks late into the night, I was just your typical studious kid, nothing on the level of a prodigy like Colin.

"Today marks Phoebe's first day of therapy at the hospital. Damian says her case isn't severe. With proper treatment, she'll be able to live like everyone else."

"Phoebe's second day in therapy, and Damian says she's improving, even playing games with other kids now."

"Phoebe's third therapy session. Damian says there's been a setback."

"Today Howler ran away from home. We searched for ages until we found him sneaking into the sanatorium to see Phoebe."

"After Howler came back, he stopped eating and drinking, just lay by the door looking miserable. I knew he was waiting for Phoebe."

The picture of Howler lying by the door, head hanging low, was taken by Mom. It captured his somber silhouette.

A tightness gripped my chest, aching as I gently touched the photo. I wish I could reach out and feel Howler again.

I have no memory of Howler, but his picture still brings me to tears.

from the hospital. I

the journal, I had three stints of treatment with Damian, the last one lasting six months, making up a year of therapy. What did Damian do during that

those memories were scrubbed clean from

"Phoebe and Howler."

Howler was still alive. I was a bit of an introvert, but I could interact normally

when I was eight, the year I met Colin, I ended up

from the orphanage. Not fatally, but enough to scare everyone. The journal mentioned I had killed a chicken

of my past. Was I really such a wild child, killing

most terrifying part is that reading these entries feels like I'm looking into someone else's life. It's as if the memories from that time don't belong to

I like before losing

me, afraid, yet he claims

love was for the

better off in those

lay on my bed, staring at

all things, of my former

I don't know why I've lost my memories, the

time for

7:30, the housekeeper knocked