I clear my throat as an unsettling shiver moves down my spine. Still, I nod. “Okay.”
“Great.” Dr. Belo gestures for Emma to sit, and she does slowly. Her belly is taut against her slender frame, and the white summer dress she’s wearing stretches tight against it. She winces as she tries to get comfortable, tension rising in her shoulders as she musters the strength to stay upright. Baby will be here in a month. She’s so close. Though, I’m sure she’d be thrilled if they came today.
“Let’s circle back,” Dr. Belo says. “We were talking about Emma”—she nods toward my wife, who is suddenly very still—“and disruptions.”
“What?” Emma snaps. “You think I’m a disruption?”
“No,” Dr. Belo says calmly. “He said the opposite.”
“Oh.” Emma deflates, but her eyes stay locked on me.
“Do you believe that to be true, Emma?”
“Me?” She blinks. “Um, yeah. Of course I believe that.”
I snort, and her nostrils flare at me.
“What?” I ask. “You don’t have to lie. I know you don’t believe it.”
“How do you know?” she fires back, crossing her arms and legs as much as she can manage, chin tipped up in stubborn defiance. It’s almost cute, watching her force herself to stay composed when I know she’d rather melt into the floor. If we were in our living room, she’d be horizontal by now, pretending gravity made the choice for her.
“Because I know you, Em.”
“And I knowyou, Steven,”she retorts.
“Do you?”
She recoils like I slapped her, and guilt spikes hard in my throat. She’s my wife. The mother of my children. She knows me better than anyone. But lately, I don’t think she’s really seen me. And being known and being seen can be two very different things.
“What are you thinking, Steven?” Dr. Belo asks gently.
I swallow hard. I either say it or this entire session is pointless.
“I’m thinking my wife doesn’t see me the way she used to.”
Emma lets out a single, sharp, “Ha.” It hits something raw and tender in me. My fists clench in my lap. My jaw locks. Irritation courses through me.
“You don’t see me the same either you know,” she whispers. There’s no accusation, just admission. Exhaustion. Like it’s something she’s held in so long that letting it out is difficult.
“You don’t give me a chance,” I snap back, regretting it instantly.
Hurt flashes across her face, and I hate myself for how easy it’s become to respond that way to her. I drag my hands over my face, stubble scratching my palms, wishing I could pull the words back.
She shifts away from me, wrapping her arms around her belly like she wants to protect the baby fromme.Heat floods my face, and all I want to do is reach for her, apologize, take it all back. But she just stares at the floor like she wants to disappear into it.
Dr. Belo clears her throat. “Emma, what are you thinking right now?”
She shakes her head, eyes still on the ground. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Belo leans forward.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I mutter, already overstepping.
“Steven, please…” Dr. Belo silences me with a hand.
“She’snot,” I press. “She always says she’s fine, but she hasn’t been fine for a while. I’m sitting here trying to be honest, and she’s just shutting down.”
