CHAPTER 6

Not My Kind of Movie—Kara

White jasmine, my favorite scent, filled the air. Candles, all white, from large, fat pillars to small, round tea lights covered the kitchen counters and living room table. The candles, no longer solid, were a waxy soup surrounding nearly extinguished wicks.

Date night. “Ahh!” I smacked my forehead. The heady fragrance weighed down my guilty conscience like solid gold bricks.

Yanking my phone from my purse, I tapped the screen to check the time, but the phone was off. It was off because I’d powered it off. The study group had a no cell phone rule, and as the new kid on the block, I had to follow the rules.

Claudia, Eduardo, and Martin had been studying together for months, and they only let me join because my mentor had asked. But I should’ve just silenced my phone. None of them were married and on their spouse’s shit list because they’d been neglectful. The other night, I’d woken up Darren as I muttered mountain ranges between Sonoma and Napa. Sad thing, I was sleeping when this happened. Darren shook me awake and told me to chill the hell out.

Sanity was slipping away, and I feared if I didn’t pass this the exam time around, I would turn into Gollum and wine would become “my precious.”

My mind wasn’t the only thing slipping away. Something had changed between me and Darren. He was no longer supportive and often complained when I went through my flash cards while in bed. This was the fifth or sixth time I’d flaked on him. For five months, I’d been working and studying, tasting and spitting nonstop. And in the process, I’d ignored Darren. There was a long, wide, tall invisible wall, and I was pretty sure if I kept at this, I’d never be able to scale it. This wasn’t about five months of regret; this was about three years. I had convinced him, and in the process, myself, that this time around would be different. I wouldn’t become this obsessed monster that didn’t have the time to talk.

I looked around downstairs. Darren wasn’t here.

No, he was here, either in our room or in the basement. His car was in the garage. Based on the sounds coming from upstairs, I made an educated guess. It was time to face the music. Dropping my heavy purse, leaden with notes and a half-empty bottle of wine that I needed to dissect—not now, obviously—I walked the green mile upstairs and took a sharp right to our room.

Darren sat in bed, his back against the headboard, Nintendo 3D-whatever in hand. The light was off, and he didn’t move when I opened the door. The light from the screen and from the computer monitor wedged in the corner of our room illuminated his face. The playful sounds from the Super Mario game didn’t detract from the heaviness in the atmosphere.

I turned on the light and leaned against the wall. He squinted his eyes a bit but still focused on the game. This was bad, really bad. Darren was a lot of things, but he was rarely frustrated or angry with me.

“Darren, I’m so sorry about tonight. I promise I—”

“Don’t promise,” he whispered. Finally, his brown eyes settled on me.

Licking my lips, I thought of something I could do to fix this mistake. Maybe I could cancel tomorrow’s study session and we could reschedule. “I can cancel tomorrow’s study group. We can do date night tomorrow?”

“No.”

“No?”

He paused the game. Silence flooded the room as his angry gaze burned my skin. “No. I hired a sushi chef to come over tonight. You didn’t answer, so I told him not to come. If you’re hungry, you can eat the rest of the pizza I warmed in the oven.”

I didn’t like this feeling. I was hot all over, like I was wearing a fur-trimmed jacket while drinking an enormous glass of Pinot Noir.

Tears pressed against my eyes, but I blinked them back. Tears wouldn’t help. I needed to fix this, fix us. But I didn’t know how. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Keep your word,” he said, resuming his game.

I opened my mouth, but then I shut it, remembering what I’d learned when I joined the management team right after college. Underpromise and overdeliver. He needed action, but for now, he needed space.

“You’re mad,” I stated the obvious.

He didn’t respond.

“Shit. You know I’m no good at this. I’m sorry I get obsessed with these tests, but it won’t be forever.”

Still, he didn’t answer.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room.” I needed space from my guilt, from the heavy atmosphere in our bedroom. I moved toward the drawers and picked up a few things. This time the tears did fall, but it was okay. He was looking down and my back was facing him.

Heat warmed my back, and my body trembled. A strong, corded arm wrapped around my waist. I leaned back, my head cradled against his chest. His other hand gently moved my hair to the side. His woodsy, clean scent muddled my senses. Then he kissed my neck, so gentle, so reverent. Tears splattered against my chest. This was us. We didn’t need the words.

Soundlessly, I turned to face him, stood on my tiptoes, my hands against his abs, and leaned in for a kiss. Soft and sweet, but then it turned to more. Hungrily, we devoured each other’s lips. He tasted of Merlot, and I didn’t know if it was left over from the tastings I did earlier, but I wanted more. I needed the fuzzy, buzzy feeling to make me forget my regret. Groping my bottom, he lifted me into the air and then dropped me onto the bed. While he undressed and caressed me, I promised myself to study less and be a woman of my word.

* * *

I was running on fumes, studying and working and trying to be a decent wife. A few minutes ago, I was on my way home, but I rerouted to Sienna’s apartment. Tonight, the group wanted to do a show-and-tell to showcase what we’d been working on and provide critiques of our work. I didn’t have much to show for these days, just a stained tongue, bags under my eyes, and a bad attitude.

I sighed, remembering that Sienna’s townhome had limited parking and since I was late, I would most likely have to drive around the neighborhood to find parking. Today must’ve been my lucky day, because I found parking near the back, right by her apartment. I rushed inside to find the ladies were already there, gabbing about a show I was too tired and too busy to watch.

“Hey!” Nikki yelled, wine sloshing from her glass.

“Watch the couch!” Sienna yelled from behind me as we neared the den area.

Nikki rolled her eyes. “Girl, it’s leather.” She reached for a napkin and patted the seat dry.

“Now that you’re here, I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, Kara,” Raina shouted from the sofa.

I wanted to say “get in line” but instead, I shook my head and settled on the couch. “What did I do this time?” It didn’t take much to set Raina off.

“Why in the world did you like my ex’s picture on Facebook?”

I tilted my head. I didn’t even realize I’d done it. I must really be on fumes. “What picture?”

“The picture where Fernando is hugging his pregnant wife from behind. You can’t miss it. They both had their shirts off, looking like they’d struggle-swam in a vat of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter. The butter in a tub, not the squeezable lotion.”

“Because that level of detail is important,” Sienna deadpanned from the kitchen.

Nikki nodded as she sipped her wine and then smacked her lips. “It is. It’s a different level of greasy.”

“So why did you like his photo?” Raina pressed on. “Answer correctly or I’ll get Nikki to bring out Louella.”

Louella was a bat that Nikki had been carrying around in her trunk since forever.

“Why are you still his friend?” Nikki asked, in the same demanding tone.

I massaged my forehead. Was she seriously grilling me about Fernando? “You guys know I’m rarely on social media, and I didn’t realize we were still friends. As far as liking his pic, I didn’t realize I did. I must’ve clicked on the image by mistake. I don’t even remember what it looked like.”

Raina pulled out her phone. “Oh, I can show you, since your like came up on my feed.

“News flash, we don’t like anything from that greasy bastard,” Nikki said in a singsongy voice.

I sighed long and hard when Raina sat beside me. “Please, don’t.”

Ignoring my request, Raina shoved her phone in my face. Fernando and his bride did indeed look overly lubricated.

“The caption reads,” Raina cleared her throat, “‘A strong king needs his queen.’ ”

“Aww, that’s kinda sweet,” Sienna cooed, placing a snack tray on the table.

Oh, goodness. Wrong move, Sienna. Wrong move.

“Kinda sweet?” Raina squeaked. “Since when has Fernando been a king? That negro was a dirty, broke-ass pauper when I met him. As far as him doing this black-and-white greasy-ass picture concept, his ashy ass was using some watered-down, dollar store lotion until I upped his game.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sienna admonished.

“Harsh, but it’s all the way true,” Raina returned. “I spent four years”—she spread out the fingers on her hand and wiggled them—“four long years dealing with his shit and then two years after we broke up, he gets married and all of sudden he’s a family guy?”

Fernando was the worst, so I was happy she dropped his sorry ass right after college. What I didn’t understand was why she was still upset. I decided to ask. “Why are you upset? You’ve got Cam, a wonderful guy. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Nikki stepped in, “is that she wasted years on him. All along he already had a queen, but he didn’t appreciate her.”

I waved my hands in the air. I was tired of getting beat up. “Fine. Duly noted. I will never again like your ex’s photo. As a matter of fact,” I grabbed my phone and swiped open the app. “I’m deleting his friendship.” I searched for his name and did so. “There. Now, can we get started?”

“Oh, she’s feisty today!” Nikki laughed.

Raina stood to turn down the television and Sienna sat in the now vacant spot next to me.

“All right. Let’s kick off the show-and-tell. I’ll go first.”

Raina smiled in her seat, eyes glowing. I focused on her, noticing the glow everywhere. That radio suspension must’ve been good for her. She was never this happy.

“I went to a literary networking event last week and met a few editors. I told them about my concept, and two of them have asked for a proposal. As you all know, I’ve already gotten started on the proposal, but I still need a professional, like a freelance editor, to review my work.”

“Why don’t you send us what you have?” Sienna suggested.

“Yeah,” Nikki bobbed her head. “This is show-and-tell.”

“I’m way ahead of you ladies. In your in-box, you’ll find my outline. Can you give me feedback, in say, two weeks?”

We all agreed. Nikki jumped from her seat and pulled out a guitar from behind the couch. “I’ve got a new song. The band and I negotiated that I’d write a few songs and maybe even cut a few tracks. The studio agreed and plans to release a few singles to test the waters.”

Nikki played the song, and it was absolutely beautiful. Lost in her own world, she tilted her head back as she strummed her guitar. The song was haunting, about a second chance at love, forgiveness, and loving someone through the tough times. Nikki did sad songs well. It would be a hit, no doubt.

Everyone clapped after Nikki finished her new composition and put away the guitar.

“That was beautiful, Nik,” Sienna complimented.

Nikki snapped the guitar case shut. “Yeah, the band loves the song and we’re going to record soon.”

“So when are you going to tell James about the band?” I asked.

Nikki widened her eyes. She still hadn’t told her husband and continued to sneak around. She snapped on us when we encouraged her to come clean.

“Like I’ve said a million times, I’ll do it when I’m ready.”

I shook my head. “Nikki, you’re being ridiculous! Just tell him the truth. It’s only going to get worse the longer you wait.”

“Right. Like I’m going to take marriage advice from someone who barely speaks to her husband.”

My shoulders squeezed together. “What are you talking about? I do speak to my husband.”

I glanced at Sienna. She’d been the only person I told about my troubles with Darren. I should’ve known not to tell my chatterbox best friend.

“I’m not the one who flaked out on date night like nine or ten times.” Nikki’s tone turned nasty.

“Four times.” My snitch-ass best friend came to my defense. “But let’s not get into a fight. Following dreams can be tough on relationships. But, Nikki, Kara’s right, and we’ve all been telling you to talk to James. It’s your choice—”

“Damn right it is.”

Sienna sighed. “And, Kara, sweetie, you know I love you, too, but Nikki is also right. You’ve gotta find balance. You can’t rightfully talk about Nikki.”

I knew I was wrong, but I was irritated. Here I was, exhausted as all hell, while my well-rested friends told me about myself. “Fine. I’ll go home and speak to my man right now.”

“Wait, we aren’t finished.” Raina raised a finger in the air. “Don’t get all pissy because Nikki dished it back. Let’s just finish the meeting.”

“I’m sorry, but,” I swung the purse strap across my shoulder, “I’ve gotta go cater to my man.” I bowed my head in submission as I paraphrased the popular Destiny’s Child song. “I’ll see y’all in a few weeks.”

I stormed out of the house, so unlike myself, and didn’t rest until I reached my car.

Maybe it was a good thing I was leaving early. I could surprise Darren, maybe even cook him something nice to eat.

I hyped myself up on being a better wife and squelched down the feeling of being a terrible friend. I’d apologize to my friends later.

When I returned home, I had a pep in my step. I promised myself I’d cook Darren a nice meal, seduce him, and give him a little sumthin’ sumthin’.

I opened the door and was not surprised when I didn’t find him in the living room. He was most likely in his man cave in the basement. “Darren, I’m home!” I yelled as I stomped down the steps.

I didn’t hear him respond, but someone else did. A chill slid over my skin, so intense goose bumps broke the surface.

I heard a moan. A long moan followed by, “Right there, Daddy!”

The chill became a tundra, yet my heart sped. I gripped the railing. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me. Not to us. An electrical prod shocked my system. I stumble-ran the rest of the steps and nearly toppled on the slippery carpet. I flung open the door.

“Aha!” My chest heaved as my attention darted around the room.

There was my husband, stroking himself to two women on dual computer monitors.

His face flitted between shock and embarrassment.

“What in the hell, Darren?” I stomped to his computer monitor as he scrambled to pull up his pants, which were pooled around his feet. “Is this what you do while I’m busting my ass for exams?” I scanned his computer.

After he halfway fastened his pants, he tried to close down the screens.

“Oh hell, no.” I slapped his hands out of the way and took a look at the damning evidence—a screen with clips of women with big asses. On the other monitor was an email from his old college buddy. The email was a picture of a woman in nothing but a Santa hat. His friend asked if Darren had been naughty or nice. Darren responded that he’d be a bad boy for her. Son of a bitch!

“Oh, really?” I swung my head and seared him with an angry look. “You’re so bad now?” I yelled, but tears were next. I could feel the stinging tide of emotions rise. This wasn’t the man I married. I wasn’t so naïve that I didn’t realize men and women watched porn, but to share pictures—naked pictures of women with his friends, his married friends—was the final straw.

“Who are you?” I backed away from him. Well, I tried. My legs were gelatin.

He stood, still fumbling with his pants. “I’m sorry, Kara, I—”

“You do this with your friends?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. We just do it for fun.”

“F-for fun?” The anger was rising again. “You share pictures of women. Probably saving it to your hard drive and saying nasty, degrading things? That’s your definition,” I pointed to the screen, “of fun?”

He was silent, but his eyes were pleading. Usually his warm brown eyes tugged at my insides, but I was empty.

“Are you . . .” I cleared my tear-clogged throat. “Are you cheating on me?”

“Never,” he whispered, as if it were a vow. “I would never cheat on you, Kara. You’re my everything. I love you.”

“I’m obviously not your everything. Y-you have this secret life where you jerk yourself off in a dark room and share dirty pics with your boys. I don’t know you.”

“You can check my phone, baby.” He grabbed the phone from his desk. “Right now. Check it and you’ll know I’m not cheating. I go to work and I come home. Yeah, sometimes I blow off steam with the guys, but I never meant to hurt you.” He raised his palms in the air. “I swear to you that I’ll never do it again.”

I ignored his outstretched hand. “Blow off steam? You mean perving on other women.” I shook my head. “I bet you hook up with these women and then—”

“That’s not true and you know it. I’m always home.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Yeah.” He folded his arms across his chest. “How are you supposed to know? You’re never home, but I am. I make sure you have a meal waiting for you every night when you come dragging from work or studying. I give you a fucking massage until you fall asleep, tucked to my chest. I clean the house because you never have the energy to do anything. And when you cancel on me, I roll with the punches because I love you.” He punctuated each word. “And, yeah, maybe I was wrong for sharing pictures and watching porn. But we haven’t had sex in two months. Every time I try to touch you, my wife, you roll away and say ‘maybe tomorrow,’ then fall asleep.”

His razor-sharp words sliced into me. Yes, he was still a fucking perv, but he was right. I was never here. But damn if I was going to admit it. I was tired of getting knocked down today.

“Sleep down here tonight with your,” I squinted at the screen, “Big Booty Brazilian Bitches.” I wasn’t calling them bitches. That was the name of the porn he’d been watching. I turned to stomp back upstairs. He tugged my hand before I could turn the corner.

“Kara. Stop. Please, let’s talk about this. We obviously have some issues to work through.”

We? I felt as if I’d been smacked across the face. “Sure. The issue is my husband watches porn and objectifies women. You want to solve our issues, stop watching porn and swapping pictures with your friends.” My tone was venomous and sarcastic, I’m sure it would’ve made Raina and Nikki proud.

“It isn’t that simple and you know it. We need to fix this, fix us. I’m willing to do whatever it takes, but please, baby, let’s talk it out.”

I jerked my arm away from his hand and took a step back, thinking through my wish list. “Stop watching porn.”

“Done, baby.”

“I mean it.” My voice was low and harsh. “Cancel your subscription and delete your files. Whatever it is you’ve got going on.”

He nodded.

“Stop sharing pictures with your friends.”

“Of course, baby. I can do that, too.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. I didn’t believe a word he said. “I also want us to go to counseling.”

“Counseling?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“Yes. You obviously have a problem. And this is a deal breaker. I can’t be with someone I don’t know, and it’s obvious that I. Don’t. Know. You.” I waved toward his setup of lotion, tissue, and hand sanitizer. At least he had the decency to clean his hands.

“Baby, you know I how I feel about counseling.”

He was a man of few words, who hated to talk out his feelings. I knew this, and still, I pushed. I was feeling vindictive and pissy and hurt. Mostly hurt. “I thought you just said whatever I want.”

“Fine, baby. You’re right. I’ll do you one better and find someone for us. That’s just how serious I am about our marriage.”

He leaned down and tried to kiss me. I smushed his face.

“Not happening. And I meant what I said. Sleep down here tonight.”

 

Turning the steering wheel, I pulled my Camry into the ghost town of a parking lot. Darren had been a man of his word, and within a week, he’d set up an appointment with a therapist. I turned off the ignition, checked my appearance, and relaxed. I tried to, anyhow. I was ten minutes early, by design.

I needed to get myself together before I got my head examined. The office block included a row of buildings, brick and rectangular and off white. For some reason, I’d imagined it would be more secluded in the outskirts of the city, with a wraparound porch and a golden retriever who licked away tears when you cried.

Darren’s Camaro slid beside my car. He parked, looking in my direction with a slight smile. I turned my head away from him and frowned. For the last few days, it’d been hard to be nice, to find the good in him and in our marriage. No, not just our marriage—my life. I was suffering from good old-fashioned depression, and no matter how many Disney movies and reality television shows I’d forced myself to watch, I couldn’t get back to me. Being mad at my husband, not having him to lean on, not having anyone hit me harder than I’d imagined. I reclined my seat and opened the door.

Darren stepped out of his vehicle and waited for me near the back of my car. “You ready for this?”

“Are you?” I quickly snapped back.

The small flicker of optimism in his eyes faded.

I needed to calm down. “Sorry. Yes . . . I’m ready, I guess. Just anxious. I don’t know what to expect, you know?”

“Right.” He dipped his chin. “We’re in this together. I want us to work this out, get over this hump.”

This was more than a hump, this was Mount Everest. I decided to keep my commentary to myself. “Well, let’s take the first step.”

We walked through the doors, and I was surprised again by the setup. The office was kind of new-agey. Near the sign-in sheet was a mini rock waterfall, illuminated by LED lights. The speakers near the desk played zen music—sounds of waves crashing with pan flutes above the sounds of nature at a respectable volume. A eucalyptus mint scent wafted throughout the office.

After we signed in, we took a seat in the lobby. Before Darren could make awkward small talk, I closed my eyes and pretended to nod off. What was the protocol on things to do when waiting for a marriage counselor? We couldn’t hold hands. That would be confusing to me, him, and the counselor. We couldn’t chat it up about the weather.

I didn’t have much time to mull over what Miss Manners would do because our names were called.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones?”

I opened my eyes. A short, black man with a bald peanut-shaped head gave us a smile.

We both stood and stretched out our hands to shake. I didn’t need Miss Manners to tell me that.

“I’m Dr. Harrison. Nice to make your acquaintance. Come on back.” He led us through a long hallway lined with doors on either side with name plaques that displayed PhD and other letters behind the names.

He opened the door to a cozy, comfortable room, like an office in corporate America. “Please, come in.” He moved to a chair near a desk and motioned us to sit on a love seat.

Was that done on purpose? I bet some couples couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other, let alone on an intimate couch. I examined my seat choice and decided to sit a few inches away from the end. Not too close, yet not so obvious in my desire to sit far away from my husband.

Dr. Harrison started off with a few softball questions, who we are, what we did, the crazy weather. Finally, after a few minutes of small talk, he clapped his hands together.

“So. Why are you here today?”

Darren swallowed, squared his shoulders. “We’re here because of me, Dr. Harrison.”

I snapped my attention away from the doctor and to my husband.

“Last week, my wife caught me watching porn and . . . and I also exchange pictures, dirty pictures, with my friends.”

“Mm-hmm.” The doctor steepled his hands, and I wondered if it was a requirement to say “mm-hmm” if you were a counselor. Raina did that a lot on her show.

“How did that make you feel, Mrs. Jones?”

“I was upset, obviously. I never knew he did stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Watch porn. Share pictures and make these lewd comments about women. It hurts me because I know I’ll never look like those exotic women he obviously has an obsession with.”

“It’s not an obsession, Kara.” Darren shook his head.

“Then what is it? A hobby? A fetish? What?”

Dr. Harrison raised a hand. “Not that I’m making an excuse, but sometimes men do watch porn,” he said in the most condescending voice ever.

Yes, I knew people watched porn. One time, Darren and I even watched. I was tipsy, but it was fine. I knew it was a regular thing for Raina and Nikki to do with their guys. But what pissed me off was that I didn’t know he did this by himself. It wasn’t something sexy or new for us to try. When I saw his little setup, I realized that porn was something he sneaked off to do. I felt like I married Darren’s representative, and it hurt like hell that he felt like he couldn’t be himself around me.

“Yes. I get that. Some of my girlfriends do, too. I’m not so much mad about the porn as I am about the stupid pic exchange and the nasty comments. Hell, most of his friends are married to beautiful, loving women. Why aren’t I, we, enough?”

Dr. Harrison nodded, his eyes squeezing shut as he listened.

“Mr. Jones, Darren. Why was your screen up?”

Dumb follow-up question, but okay. I’d see where he was going with this.

“I thought I was alone. Kara’s been busy lately with studying.”

“Oh,” Dr. Harrison grabbed his notepad. “You’re in school? I thought you were a sommelier?”

“I am, but I’m studying for the master level. It requires a lot of my time to do so. Studying is like preparing for the LSAT in my field.”

“Got ya.” He turned his attention toward Darren. “So, you thought you were home by yourself. Have you been doing this more since Kara has been focused on her studies?”

Darren nodded. “I guess I’ve been frustrated, too. The canceled dates, we rarely have sex, and I . . . I just needed a release.”

“I get that.” Dr. Harrison lifted his pen in the air. “I do. But you have to be mindful of your wife, protect her.”

I smiled and glanced at Darren. Dr. Harrison was a smart guy.

“If you’re going to do stuff like that with your friends, don’t make it so easily accessible. You have to protect her from those types of things. I know guys like to do stuff like that, but she shouldn’t have to see you do that.”

Scratch that. Dr. Harrison was fucking dumb.

“Wait, what?” I furrowed my brows. “Are you telling my husband to hide things from me?”

His large brown eyes focused on me. “I’m asking him to protect you.”

“By lying. We don’t lie in our marriage, Dr. Harrison,” I bit off angrily. Why I needed to tell a marriage counselor this was beyond me. And what made it worse was that we were paying him $120 an hour to fix us.

“FYI,” I looked at my husband. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I won’t.” Darren eagerly nodded.

“My apologies, Mrs. Jones.” The counselor’s voice wasn’t as contrite as I’d have liked. “Let’s move forward. Darren, I’m so concerned about the root cause for this type of behavior. Why didn’t you speak to your wife about your frustration?”

“Because . . . because—”

“He doesn’t express how he feels,” I finished for him. “He’s always had a hard time with opening up.”

“Why is that, Darren? I want you to answer the question.”

“My family.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his jeans and then his jacket. “My parents died in an accident. I was a toddler, so I barely remember them and I was raised by my grandparents. They were affluent, and I had all the things I wanted in the world, but we just didn’t talk that way.”

“Were they affectionate? Did they tell you that they loved you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Can you define what love means to you? What love is?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I . . .”

“Sometimes, what?” Dr. Harrison encouraged.

“Sometimes I think I don’t know what love is.”

Blood drained from my face. Porn, throwing away his freaky-deaky stash was what I’d thought we’d be discussing. I stared at my husband, willed him to look at me, tell me to my face that he didn’t love me. But he stared straight on, chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. I licked my lips, swallowed. My mouth had gone dry, heart pounded like gongs in my ears. “What does that mean? Y-you don’t love me?”

“Of course I do. I’m just confused right now.”

Tears clawed like an unyielding beast up my throat. I couldn’t see anything in front of me but blurred lines. Tears dripped from my eyes and settled on my lips.

Dr. Harrison stepped in. “I think Darren and I should do some one-on-one time. Then after a few sessions, we can go back to marriage counseling.”

I nodded, grabbed my jacket, and rushed out of the office. My husband, the man I thought I would love forever, didn’t know how he felt about me.

God, I wished it was only about the porn.