“But…” I scrutinize the woman I thought was my best friend, from her yoga pants to her baggy T-shirt. She looks surprisingly real for a person I am hallucinating. I’m sort of impressed with my brain right now. “But you’re not real. You’re all in my head.” “I’m what?” “You’re a figment of my imagination,” I clarify. “I fabricated you as a way to deal with my husband and his obsession.”
