Bart smiles faintly. “So, what brings you here today?”
I smirk, leaning back a little. I won the stalemate. “My wife.”
He keeps watching me, waiting for more.
“She thinks I don’t respect her,” I say finally.
“And you think you do?” he asks evenly.
“IknowI do,” I answer without hesitation. “She’s my wife. The mother of my child. I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t respect her.”
Bart leans back in his chair; fingers crossed over a diary on his lap. “Men have been marrying women they believed were beneath them for centuries, Matthew. Respect isn’t a prerequisite for marriage.”
“Well, Brooke is definitely not beneath me,” I say quickly. “She’s better than me, if anything.”
“Better how?” he asks gently.
I shrug, staring down at my hands. “She just… is. She’s survived a lot. She figured out her weaknesses and still managed to build a life for herself. That takes courage I don’t have.”
Dr. Sands studies me for a beat, then says quietly, “The way you talk about her, it’s almost as if you revere her.”
“I guess,” I shrug. “What’s the problem with that?”
He leans forward slightly. “Tell me this, why did you marry her?”
The answer comes out instantly. “Because I love her.”
He nods slowly. “And how long after meeting each other did that happen?”
I huff out a soft laugh. “Technically… four years. But, well, it’s a long story.”
“I have time,” he says simply.
So, I tell him.
I tell him about the lockdown years, how I’d wrapped myself in a little antisocial cocoon, content to keep the world at arm’slength. How she slipped through that wall like it was nothing. How she became my friend, my person.
Then how we drifted apart.
How, years later, we ran into each other on an aeroplane. How it felt like no time had passed and yet everything had changed.
How we ended up in bed that night. And how, not long after, we found out she was pregnant and got married.
By the time I finish, Bart leans back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “There’s no shame in a shotgun wedding,” he says gently.
“It wasn’t,” I shoot back quickly. “I married her because I loved her.”
He nods once. “And why did she marry you?”
The question lands like a small punch to the gut. I look away. “…We needed my insurance. For the pregnancy.”
Bart doesn’t jump in to fill the silence. He just lets it sit for a second.
“And how do you feel about that?” he asks finally.
I shrug, though the motion feels stiff. “It… sucks. But she loves me now, so…”
“So it doesn’t matter anymore?” he finishes softly.
