The Silent Patient

by Alex Michaelides

treating Alicia would have—should have—remained an idle fantasy, had not fate unexpectedly intervened.

I would get stoned just from the rustling of rolling papers and the anticipation of the warm, intoxicating high.

And I’m not saying this as your old therapist—but as your old friend.

Gabriel was so sweet this morning—he kissed me awake and presented me with thirty-three red roses.

Max has asked us out to dinner.