“You made a series of choices, Ray.” The anger was rising now, burning through the shock. “Every time you met him. Every text you sent.” I glared at him. “Every time you sucked his dick or screwed him.”
“I know.” His voice cracked, and I saw tears gathering in his eyes. In twenty-five years, I’d seen Ray cry only three times—when his mother died, when we confirmed Leo’s adoption, and when we were finally legally married ten years into our relationship. “And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But twenty-five years together has to count for something.” He took a tentative step towards me. “What if we see someone? A counselor?”
I crossed my arms, creating a barrier between us. The watch he’d given me for our twentieth anniversary felt heavy on my wrist. “You think talking to a stranger will fix this?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But it might help us figure out if it can be fixed. If we can be fixed.” His eyes pleaded with me. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll sleep on the couch, I’ll give you all the space you need. Just... don’t throw away everything we’ve built without trying.”
I stood there, torn between walking out and the tiny flame of hope that flickered somewhere deep inside me. We’d been through so much together—building a home, raising Leo, creating a life. The photo collage on our hallway wall flashedthrough my mind—Ray and me on our first hike together, his arm around my shoulders as I squinted nervously at the camera, afraid of the height; the three of us at Leo’s high school graduation, all of us teary-eyed and proud; our wedding day, finally legal after so many years waiting. Could I really end it all?
“I need time to think,” I said finally. “But I’ll do some research on counselors.”
Ray’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
I didn’t make Ray sleep on the couch, but there was a definite space between us. I threw myself into researching marriage counselors with the same intensity I usually reserved for debugging code. I created spreadsheets, read reviews, and checked credentials. If we were going to do this, we were going to do it right. When I wasn’t working or researching, I moved through our house like a ghost, rediscovering the evidence of our shared life—Ray’s collection of marathon medals hanging in the home office, the dent in the living room wall from when Leo had tried to practice basketball inside, the slightly mismatched paint where we’d tried to fix it ourselves.
“I found someone,” I told Ray three days later, sliding a printout across the kitchen counter. “Dr. Lieber in Wilton Manors. She specializes in long-term same-sex couples.”
Ray picked up the paper, scanning it quickly. His expression shifted subtly, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. “Her office is in the Pride Center?”
“She’s got twenty years of experience with couples like us,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee, avoiding his eyes. “And she’s one of the few therapists who takes our insurance.”
Ray set the paper down, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Do we really need someone who makes such a big deal about the gay thing? I mean, her website has more rainbow flags than a pride parade.”
“Our issues aren’t entirely separate from being gay men who’ve been together for decades,” I pointed out, leaning against the counter. “And she understands the specific challenges we’ve faced—getting married later in life when it finally became legal, adopting Leo in a state that wasn’t always friendly to families like ours.”
“I guess.” He fidgeted with his coffee mug—the chipped FSU one that Leo had brought home after his first semester. “I just don’t want to spend our sessions talking about identity politics or whatever. I screwed up, plain and simple. It’s not because I’m gay.”
I felt a flash of irritation. “No, it’s because you cheated. With another man. Which makes it pretty relevant to find a therapist who won’t tell us to pray away the gay or suggest I wasn’t being a good enough wife.”
Ray winced at my tone but nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached for the printout again, studying it with more care this time. “When can we start?”
“She has an opening next Tuesday at seven.”
“I’ll be there,” he said quickly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Thank you for trying, Jeffrey. For not just walking away.”
I nodded, unable to articulate that I wasn’t entirely sure if I was staying because of hope or habit. Either way, we needed more than just therapy.
Chapter 2
Wise Sage
Dr. Lieber’s office was warm but not stuffy, decorated in soothing blues and grays rather than the rainbow explosion Ray had feared. The walls featured abstract paintings and framed credentials rather than Pride flags. I felt Ray relax slightly beside me as we settled onto the slate-colored couch.
Dr. Lieber was a woman in her early sixties with short silver hair and kind eyes behind stylish glasses. She had the calm, measured demeanor of someone who’d heard it all before and wasn’t easily shocked.
“So,” she said after we’d covered the basics, “tell me what brings you here today.”
Ray and I exchanged glances. We’d agreed I would take the lead.
“Ray had an affair,” I said, the words still bitter in my mouth. “With a client. It lasted three months.”
If Dr. Lieber was surprised, she didn’t show it. She simply nodded and made a brief note on her pad. “And this affair has ended?”
“Yes,” Ray said quickly. “Completely. I ended it before Jeffrey found out.”
“That’s not exactly a point in your favor,” I muttered.
“I’m not looking for points,” Ray said. “I’m just being honest about the timeline.”
