“What I’m hearing,” Dr. Lieber said, “is that you had a pattern of honoring both your differences and finding ways to share experiences. When did that pattern begin to change?”
“After we adopted Leo,” Ray said. “Which was absolutely the right decision, but?—”
“Our lives became centered around him,” I finished. “School events, sports, helping with homework.”
“And then the pandemic hit right as Leo was leaving for college,” Ray added. “Jeffrey started working from home permanently. I was stuck inside instead of having client meetings in person or doing outdoor training.”
“I felt like Ray started to see me as just... there. Furniture,” I said. “Always in his space.”
“And I felt invisible,” Ray countered. “Like Jeffrey was more connected to his computer than to me.”
Dr. Lieber made a few notes. “Ray, would you say you felt isolated in your marriage?”
Ray nodded slowly. “Yes. Like we were roommates more than husbands.”
“And Jeffrey, beyond the affair itself, what has hurt you most?”
“The betrayal,” I said immediately. “That he could just... replace me. That twenty-five years together wasn’t enough reason to work on what we had instead of looking elsewhere.”
Dr. Lieber set down her pen. “I think we have a good starting point. For homework this week, I’d like you to spend time doing something you both enjoyed in the past—something that isn’t connected to Leo or to your work. Can you think of anything that might fit that description?”
Ray and I looked at each other again, both struggling.
“We could go to that bookstore in Coral Gables,” Ray suggested. “The one with the cafe where we used to spend Sunday mornings before Leo.”
“Or kayaking at John Pennekamp,” I offered. “We haven’t done that in years.”
Dr. Lieber smiled. “Either of those sounds perfect. The activity itself matters less than the shared experience and the opportunity to connect outside your roles as fathers or professionals.”
As we left her office and walked toward the car, I felt emotionally drained but somehow lighter, as if speaking our struggles aloud had released some of the pressure that had been building between us. We reached the parking lot insilence, the Florida heat immediately enveloping us after the air-conditioned office.
“You want me to drive?” Ray offered, keys already in hand.
I nodded, too exhausted to argue, and slid into the passenger seat. As Ray navigated us out of the lot and onto the main road, I studied his profile—the strong jaw now slightly softened with age, the crow’s feet that appeared when he squinted against the early evening sun, the flecks of gray at his temples that he’d stopped trying to hide.
“What did you think?” I asked finally. “About Dr. Lieber?”
“She’s good,” Ray admitted, keeping his eyes on the road. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. More judgment, I guess.” His knuckles whitened slightly on the steering wheel. “More focus on what I did rather than why.”
The ‘why’ had been haunting me for weeks. Not just the act of betrayal itself, but the path that had led to it. What had Russell offered that I couldn’t? What void had he filled that I hadn’t even noticed was empty?
“Let’s give it a try this weekend, all right?” he said. “I saw online that the third volume of that romantasy book you like is out now. We could pick it up, sit in the café and read together for a while?”
“I appreciate the suggestion,” I said. “But reading together doesn’t get us talking. How about we rent kayaks and go out on West Lake?”
Our community backed onto a large lake that fed into the Intracoastal Waterway, and we’d always talked about renting kayaks there and exploring the mangrove swamp. But something had always taken precedence.
“Kayak is a palindrome,” Ray said. “You taught me that word.”
I laughed. “And now you can coach me on paddling.”
Chapter 3
Spoonbills
