Chapter 5 Test of Love

# Chapter 5: Test of Love

Dr. Miriam Chen's office felt like a sanctuary—soft lighting, muted colors, and comfortable furniture that invited honesty. After three weeks of intensive therapy, I'd come to cherish this space where I could finally speak my whole truth.

"How have you been sleeping?" Dr. Chen asked, her pen poised over her notepad. She was a petite woman with a calm presence that belied her sharp intelligence.

"Better," I admitted. "The medication helps."

"And the transitions between Clara and Vera? Any episodes this week?"

I shook my head. "Not since last Thursday. I felt it coming—that restlessness, that urge to transform—but I used the grounding techniques you taught me."

Dr. Chen smiled approvingly. "That's excellent progress, Clara. The fact that you can now recognize the shift before it happens means you're developing awareness of your triggers."

Dissociative identity disorder. The diagnosis had been both terrifying and relieving—putting a name to the fracture I'd felt inside myself for so long. Dr. Chen had explained that my case was unusual; most people with DID developed it in childhood as a response to trauma. My split had emerged in adulthood, a delayed reaction to years of suppressing parts of myself to meet others' expectations.

"Have you spoken with either Evan or Zane this week?" Dr. Chen asked, shifting topics.

My chest tightened at the mention of their names. "Evan came to my place yesterday. We talked for a while."

"How did that feel?"

"Complicated," I said, remembering the careful distance he maintained, the way his eyes searched my face as if looking for signs of Vera. "He's trying to understand, but I can tell he's waiting for me to... I don't know, suddenly transform in front of him."

"And Zane?"

"We've been texting," I admitted. "Nothing serious. Just checking in. He wants to meet for coffee next week."

Dr. Chen made a note. "How do you feel about potentially seeing both of them again?"

I stared out the window at the city skyline. "Scared. Ashamed. But also... hopeful? They both know everything now, and they're still willing to talk to me. That has to mean something."

"It does," Dr. Chen agreed. "But remember what we discussed about taking things slowly. Your primary focus needs to be integration—finding a way for Clara and Vera to exist as parts of a whole, rather than separate entities."

Integration. The word still frightened me. What would I be if not Clara or Vera? Who would emerge from the fusion of my two selves?

As I left Dr. Chen's office, my phone buzzed with a text from Alicia: *Lunch? I've got gossip and an hour to kill.*

I smiled, grateful for the friend who had stood by me through everything. We met at a small café near the hospital—a place I'd avoided since taking medical leave, afraid of running into colleagues who might have heard rumors about my condition.

"You look better," Alicia said as she slid into the seat across from me. "Less... fractured."

"Thanks, I think," I replied with a small laugh. "The therapy is helping. So is the time off."

Alicia leaned forward, her expression turning serious. "Have you thought about what you'll do when your leave ends? Will you go back to the hospital?"

I stirred my tea thoughtfully. "I don't know yet. Dr. Chen says I need to find a balance—incorporate aspects of both Clara and Vera into whatever comes next."

"And what does that mean for Evan and Zane?"

The question I'd been circling for weeks. "I wish I knew," I admitted. "I hurt them both so deeply. And even if they could forgive me, how could I possibly choose?"

Alicia raised an eyebrow. "Who says you have to choose?"

"Society? Convention? The fact that most people don't juggle two romantic relationships?"

"Most people aren't you," she pointed out. "Maybe traditional relationships aren't your path."

Her words lingered in my mind later that evening as I prepared for Evan's visit. We'd agreed to a dinner at my apartment—neutral territory where we could talk without the pressure of public scrutiny.

I was chopping vegetables when the doorbell rang. Taking a deep breath, I wiped my hands and went to answer it.

Evan stood in the hallway, a bottle of wine in hand, looking both familiar and somehow like a stranger. Two months ago, he would have walked right in, kissed me without hesitation. Now, he waited to be invited.

"Hi," I said, stepping back to let him enter. "Thank you for coming."

He nodded, handing me the wine. "I remember you like this one."

The small gesture of remembrance touched me deeply. "I do. Thank you."

We moved to the kitchen, where I resumed my preparation while Evan opened the wine. The domesticity of it felt both comfortable and painful—a glimpse of what might have been.

"How was your session with Dr. Chen today?" he asked, pouring two glasses.

"Good. Challenging, but good." I focused on dicing an onion, grateful for the excuse when tears filled my eyes. "She thinks I'm making progress."

Evan leaned against the counter, studying me. "I can see it," he said softly. "You seem more... present. Like you're fully here."

His observation was perceptive. In the weeks since my diagnosis, I'd been learning to inhabit the space between Clara and Vera—to access the strengths of both without disappearing into either.

"I'm trying," I said. "It's hard to explain, but it's like I've been living my life in fragments, and now I'm trying to piece myself back together."

Evan nodded slowly. "I've been doing a lot of reading about DID. Trying to understand."

The fact that he'd made that effort meant more than I could express. "And? What have you learned?"

"That it's complex. That it's not your fault." He paused, taking a sip of his wine. "And that recovery is possible, but it takes time."

Time. The unspoken question hung between us: would he give me that time? Could what we had survive the fractures I'd created?

Dinner was surprisingly pleasant—conversation flowing more easily than I'd expected as we carefully navigated around the more painful topics. It was only as we cleared the dishes that Evan finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"I saw Zane yesterday," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

My hands froze in the act of rinsing a plate. "You did?"

"I went to his motorcycle shop. I thought we should talk—man to man."

I turned slowly to face him, heart racing. "And how did that go?"

Evan's expression was unreadable. "Better than I expected, actually. He's... not what I imagined."

"What did you imagine?"

"Some tattooed bad boy with no depth." Evan smiled wryly. "And while he is tattooed, there's more to him than that. He cares about you. Deeply."

The thought of the two men in my life meeting, discussing me, was both surreal and terrifying. "What did you talk about?"

"You, mostly. Your condition. How we both felt betrayed but also worried." He set down the dish towel he'd been holding. "We're meeting again tomorrow. He's picking me up on his motorcycle."

I couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped me. "You're going for a motorcycle ride with Zane?"

"Apparently." Evan's smile was tentative but genuine. "He said if I'm going to understand part of what draws you to him, I should experience the freedom of the open road, or something equally poetic."

The image of Evan—cautious, methodical Evan—on the back of Zane's Harley was almost too much to process. "I don't know what to say."

"Neither did I," Evan admitted. "But then I thought about what Dr. Chen told us in that joint session—about how Clara and Vera are both aspects of you that need expression. And I realized that if I love you—all of you—I should at least try to understand the parts that are drawn to him."

His words stole my breath. "You still love me? After everything?"

Evan stepped closer, his eyes serious. "I never stopped. I'm angry, and hurt, and still processing everything. But yes, I love you."

Tears filled my eyes. "I don't deserve that."

"Maybe not," he agreed gently. "But love isn't about deserving."

He reached out, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. The familiar gesture broke something open inside me, and I leaned into his touch.

"I love you too," I whispered. "I always have. Even when I was being Vera, even when I was with Zane, some part of me loved you."

"And some part of you loved him," Evan said, his voice tight but not angry. "I'm trying to accept that."

The moment was interrupted by the buzzing of my phone. I glanced down to see Zane's name on the screen.

"It's him," I said, looking up at Evan uncertainly.

"Answer it," Evan said after a brief hesitation. "It's okay."

With trembling fingers, I accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Hey," Zane's deep voice came through the speaker. "Bad time?"

"I'm actually with Evan right now," I said honestly.

There was a pause. "Oh. Well, tell Boy Scout I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Hope he doesn't scream too loud when I hit the freeway."

Despite everything, I laughed. "I'll pass that along."

"Actually," Evan said, surprising me by reaching for the phone, "may I speak with him?"

I handed over the phone, watching in amazement as Evan engaged in a brief conversation with Zane, confirming their plans for the next day. There was an ease to their interaction that I never would have expected—not friendship, certainly, but something approaching mutual respect.

When Evan hung up, he handed the phone back with a slightly embarrassed shrug. "That was weird, wasn't it?"

"A little," I admitted. "But also... nice?"

We settled on the couch, the evening taking an unexpected turn as Evan asked me to tell him about Vera—not the betrayal or the lies, but the parts of myself I expressed through her. Hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, I described the freedom I felt when I let myself be spontaneous, the exhilaration of taking risks, the joy in expressing desires I'd always suppressed.

"I want to know those parts of you too," Evan said when I finished. "Not just the Clara I fell in love with, but all of you."

His willingness to embrace my complexity moved me deeply. "I'd like that," I said softly.

As the evening drew to a close, there was a tentative knock at my door. Evan and I exchanged confused glances—it was nearly eleven, too late for casual visitors.

When I opened the door, Zane stood in the hallway, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Sorry to show up like this," he said. "I was in the neighborhood and..." He trailed off, catching sight of Evan behind me. "Shit. You're still here."

"I am," Evan confirmed, moving to stand beside me.

The three of us stood frozen in an awkward tableau—the men I'd kept in separate worlds now face-to-face in my doorway.

"I should go," Zane said, backing away. "This was a mistake."

"Wait," I called. "Why did you come?"

Zane hesitated, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small object—a motorcycle key with a custom charm attached. "I finished this today. It's for your birthday next week. I was going to mail it, but..." He shrugged. "Anyway, here."

He handed me the key chain—a silver crescent moon that matched the charm on the bracelet he'd given me months ago.

"It's beautiful," I said, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

An uncomfortable silence fell. I could feel the tension radiating from both men—not hostility exactly, but the natural awkwardness of two people connected by their feelings for the same woman.

"Do you want to come in?" Evan asked suddenly, surprising both Zane and me. "We were just talking."

Zane's eyebrows shot up. "You serious?"

Evan nodded, though I could see the effort it cost him. "Clara was telling me about... the parts of herself she explores with you. I think maybe we should talk. All three of us."

Zane looked to me, his expression questioning. "Your call, doc."

I took a deep breath, considering the two men before me—so different, yet each holding pieces of my heart. Dr. Chen had warned against rushing into decisions, advised me to focus on my own healing before addressing my relationships. But standing here, seeing the effort both men were making to understand, I couldn't turn Zane away.

"Come in," I said, stepping back to let him enter.

What followed was the strangest evening of my life—the three of us seated in my living room, cautiously navigating a conversation that had no social script. There were moments of tension, flashes of jealousy, but also surprising instances of connection as Evan and Zane discovered shared interests and perspectives.

"You have to understand," Zane said at one point, addressing Evan directly, "when I met her, she was Vera. Completely Vera. I had no idea Clara existed."

"And I never knew about Vera," Evan replied. "Not until everything fell apart."

"Do you think you have the right to love her?" Zane asked suddenly, his voice sharp with challenge. "After everything she's been through, after seeing how complicated she is—do you still think you deserve her?"

The question hung in the air, charged with emotion. I started to intervene, to defuse the tension, but Evan held up a hand.

"I don't know if anyone has the 'right' to love someone," he said carefully. "But I know I do love her—all of her, not just the parts that are easy or familiar. And I'm willing to work to understand the rest."

Zane held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Same," he said simply.

As the night wore on, I watched these two men—representatives of the divided aspects of myself—gradually finding ways to coexist in the same space. It was messy and awkward and utterly unpredictable, but it was also something I'd never dared to imagine: my two worlds beginning, tentatively, to merge.

By the time they both left—separately, but with plans to meet the next day—I felt something I hadn't experienced in months: hope. Not for a conventional resolution, perhaps, but for the possibility of something new and uncharted—a relationship, or relationships, that might accommodate all the facets of who I was becoming.

As I closed the door behind them, I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror. For once, I didn't see Clara or Vera staring back at me. I saw someone new—someone integrated and complex, still healing but finally whole.