"Do you see now that you were always worthy?" Dr. D'Amore asks me, gesturing to my husband. "You say Atlas was working one job, but you were working two, maybethreefull-time jobs. People write off stay-at-home mothers as not doing real work, but Wendy, what time would your day start?"
"At five usually."
"And when would it end?"
"...it doesn’t."
I don’t really clock out. Not even when I’m asleep. If Noah has a nightmare, I’m the one holding him as he cries and soothing him back to sleep.
If either of the boys are sick, I’m the one getting a wastebasket for them to throw up in, grabbing cool towels or medicine.
"You were working too. But you didn't see it as such because it was unpaid. Atlas, did you ever think that Wendy was lazy or didn't actually work?"
"No," Atlas firmly shook his head. "I was... God, I was in aweof how she handled it—how easy she made everything look."
"Was it easy, Wendy?"
I huff a laugh,"No.It's so hard. Every single day. You get used to the work, but it's... mentally and physically draining."
Atlas' face crumples at my words.
Dr. D'Amore sees it. "Atlas, you didn't see her struggling."
"I didn't," he admits, his voice ashamed.
This time, I squeeze his hand to comfort him.
"Just as Wendy didn't see you struggling," she says, leaning forward in her seat. "You guys were almost sinking ships, right next to each other, unable to call out for help. That's not malicious—it's life, it's marriage. What would be malicious and cruel would be to let it continue, let it fester and ruin your relationship, building resentment until you can't stand each other. You didn't."
Atlas lifts our hands and presses a kiss to the back of mine. I smile, and lay my other hand over his when he rests our joined hands on his leg.
"Most of the couples I have in those seats need that wakeup call, as unpleasant and devastating as it can be. In this case, it seems it was the missed couple's therapy session and Wendy filing for separation. You both are here now, and you're doing the work at home. That's what matters. We cannot erase the past or the feelings it left behind, no matter how much we want to. But we can acquire these tools to recognize a backslide before it even happens."
Atlas and I share a look, and we both smile at each other.
We're here. We're doing the work. We're going to heal.
We're going to be Atlas and Wendy again.
"Atlas," she says, gesturing for him to go.
He's shaking, and so am I.
The adrenaline is leaving my body. All these feelings I've kept wrapped up inside of me, burying them deeper and deeper so that I can focus on my kids, on Atlas, on my growing independence, on finding Wendy.
They're out in the open—all of them.
No more trickling. It was a flood, and now I feel... light.
Free.
I hope it's like that for Atlas, and I'm going to hold him through this, knowing how scary, how difficult it is.
Whatever he has to say, they are his feelings. If he confirms all of my fears because that's how he felt, I will listen, I will change the behaviors I need to change.
Because I love Atlas. I'll scream it louder than the guilt that invades my head. I will tell that voice that it's not real, and it can't control me. Not anymore.
Atlas takes a deep breath and tells Dr. D'Amore about that night, his voice shaking as he does so. I keep my hand locked in his, scooting over on the couch so my side is pressed against his, full contact, full support, all love.
