I hesitated, just long enough to acknowledge that this was the kind of truth men weren’t trained to say.
“Of losing her,” I finally answered. “Of waking up one day and realizing she doesn’t want this anymore.”
“And what does ‘this’ mean to you?”
“Our family.” My voice thickened just a fraction. “Our life. Everything we built before I screwed it up.”
She nodded, letting the silence sit for a moment. “What else?” she prompted.
I exhaled.
“I’m angry,” I admitted. “At myself. Because no matter what I do, it never feels enough. I promised her I would accept every version of her, but this version—the one who survived me—was the hardest to live with.She pulled away, quietly building boundaries between us.”
I paused.
“I wanted her to heal. I wanted her to stop living in the shadow of what I’d done. But some nights, when she lay beside me with that quiet space between us, it felt like my betrayal was still alive. Like that Nazgûl blade. The kind of wound that never really heals.” A bitter smile tugged at my lips, fleeting and humorless.
“You want to fix her pain.”
“Of course I do.”
Dr. Doherty leaned forward slightly. “But you can’t.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Yeah.”
“You can help,” she corrected. “Support. Show up. Be consistent. But healing is something she has to walk through on her own timeline, not yours.”
I looked away, staring at the framed painting on the wall. “I once asked her to come with me,” I said. “For therapy. She refused.”
“How did that make you feel?”
I let out a humorless breath. “Like I’m the only one fighting for us.”
Dr. Doherty shook her head softly. “No. You’re the only one fighting this way. Your wife is fighting too, in the way she wakes up every morning and stays. In the way she lets you close at all. In the way she hasn’t left.”
I didn’t respond. I hadn’t thought of it like that.
She studied me for a moment. “You mentioned last week that you’ve become more protective. Even possessive. Tell me about that.”
I tightened my grip on my hands.
“I notice everything now,” I said. “Who texts her. Who looks at her. If she dresses a little nicer than usual. If she takes too long to reply to me.”
“Does she know you feel this way?”
“No.” And I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to.
“Why do you think you’ve become more possessive?”
I met her eyes, steady. “Because I know what I stand to lose.”
Dr. Doherty nodded slowly. “Fear can turn into control if you’re not careful.”
“I’m not controlling her,” I said firmly.
“No,” she agreed. “But you’re aware that fear has a way of changing people.”
I didn’t deny it. She was right.
