"No, I think—" My voice cracks, tears imminent, and I clear my throat. "No, I think we're done."
Painting a polite smile on my face, I pull my purse over my shoulder.
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Anderson. I'm sorry for..." Itrail off, the embarrassment choking the words right out of me. I bite down hard on my lip to stop the tears and clench my hand into a fist, nails biting the skin of my palm.
She watches me with kind eyes.
"Wendy, would you mind," she says slowly, like she knows I'm seconds from falling apart, "If I gave you a piece of advice? Not as your therapist—just woman to woman?"
I nod.
"So, I've been doing this for thirty years now. I've seen marriages recover from some truly dire situations, and I've seen marriages fall apart over what seemed like nothing at all. The one thing I've learned is this: sometimes, giving up is notfailure," she says, her voice firm, but her face is soft and understanding. "Sometimes it's just giving ourselvesmercy."
Her words wrap around me and I blink, letting them settle inside of me. The smile comes to my face a little easier now as I stand from my seat.
"Thank you again, Dr. Anderson.”
"Of course," she smiles, standing from her chair and walking me to the door. "Take care of yourself, Wendy."
"I will," I respond softly, a promise—to her and to myself.
The fall air is brisk, and the wind bites at my cheeks but I barely notice it as I walk into the parking lot.
I slide into my pearl-colored SUV which was my birthday gift from Atlas and the boys four years ago, complete with heated seats and an automatic start.
Atlas was so excited to show it to me, and the boys almost spoiled the surprise no less than six times before he brought me outside to see his dad pulling it into our driveway.
What once felt like the sweetest gift from the sweetest man, now just feels like another debt, another reminder that I cannot buy myself anything because I have nothing.
Atlas makes the money, I take care of the kids. That’s the deal. It could all be ripped away from me in an instant, so I have no room to complain.
I start the engine, turn the heat on, grip the steering wheel,but I don't move yet. I used to be so eager to get home, hearing the pitter-patter of little feet and the big booted steps of my husband rushing toward me.
What's even waiting for me there now?
If Atlas didn't bother to show up for the appointment, then he's probably still at work. I scheduled the appointment for five, so he could have an excuse to cut out from work an hour early. Stupidly, I thought it would be a much-deserved break for my hardworking husband.
Atlas probably just ignored the hour reminder, the fifteen-minute reminder, and the one-minute reminder on his phone.
Trying to talk to him doesn't work, scheduling appointments doesn't work either.
My husband doesn't care about saving our marriage, so why should I?
I had thought, naively, that tonight would changesomething. That Atlas and I could reconnect during today's session, not cure our issues, but feel better from doing something about them.
That's why I asked Diane and Emmett if the kids could stay over tonight, and they happily agreed. Tonight would be just about us, maybe finding each other again through intimacy and physical affection since there’s been a lack of it.
Sometimes, every once in a while, he'll absentmindedly peck my cheek in the morning before he runs out the door. If I'm awake enough, I'll be able to feel him kiss my head when he slides into bed late at night.
But other than that, there are no intimate hugs, no deep kisses, no makeouts, no heavy petting, and definitely no sex.
God, whenwasthe last time we had sex? Months? More than eight or nine, I think. Even then, it was… awful. There was no kissing, no passion, no taking care of me like he used to.
"I'm sorry, baby, this pussy's just too tight," Atlas moans into my neck after his orgasm subsides and he's dripping down my thighs.
"It's okay," I whisper, bending my head back to kiss him deeply. He's still half-hard, and he rocks his hips against me, rubbing mewith his fingers just the way I like.
"Atlas..." I moan, arching myself into him. He leans down and kisses my neck, his expert hands knowing just how to bring me to orgasm.
