Page 57 of Dream with Me

When I glance over at Troy, he’s staring at her, open-mouthed. Clearly, she caught him off guard, too. After a few seconds, he seems to get his bearings.

“I’m seeing a counselor on my own.” Troy’s voice is so quiet I almost think I misheard him.

My head whips toward him. “What did you say?” He twists his body slightly until he’s facing me.

“I’ve been seeing a counselor for a few months now.”

My husband has been seeing a counselor, and I didn’t know it?

He won’t be your husband for very long, so it’s none of your business. Screw you, inner voice. Mind your business.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Troy shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and my anger is like a dull throb in my head and heart.

“I told you about my counseling and what I was dealing with. That was the perfect opportunity for you to tell me you were going to counseling, too. I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

“It was personal. I’m dealing with a lot of stuff in there. Plus”—he pauses and takes a deep breath—"I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Why wouldn’t I care? You’re my husband. I’m your wife!” My tone is sharp, my voice raised.

Troy pulls back a bit, I suspect unconsciously, repositioning himself so he’s a little further away from me and not turned into me so much. The tips of his ears redden like they do when he’s upset... or angry.

“For how much longer, Shannon? What’s the countdown on that? Two weeks? What happens when we have to stand before that judge again, and this time she signs that paper? I’ll tell you what happens: we’ll be officially divorced. I won’t be your husband any longer. You won’t be my... You won’t be my wife. That’s what you wanted. It’s what youwant.”

His words come out harsh and frustrated.

It’s like I’ve been slapped. I physically retract from him, stunned.I’m here! I’ll always be here. We have kids together.

“Is that the only reason? I whisper. “The only reason you didn’t tell me?”

He says nothing. Doesn’t look at me.

We sit here for several uncomfortable moments, me staring at him and him avoiding making eye contact with me. In deafening silence. Dr. Linden remains quiet.

Troy looks down at his watch. “I should probably go so I’m not late for school pick-up.” He won’t be late; pick-up is at least fifteen minutes from now. It’s a convenient excuse to get away from the uncomfortable situation. He stands to leave.

Now, I’m frustrated beyond measure. I thought we were communicating better.

“Because that’s what you do when a conversation gets hard. You shut down and avoid conflict. Look where that’s gotten us.” The accusation in my voice makes me wince, and when Troy looks at me, hurt flashes in his eyes before they turn cold.

“Shannon, would you stay back for a minute?” Dr. Linden asks.

“Sure.” My voice is hushed, unsure. Something inside me is shaken by the conversation. It’s not somewhere I ever expected this to go.

Troy says goodbye to Dr. Linden and leaves.

After he’s gone, I listen to Dr. Linden encourage me to do a deep dive into my thoughts and feelings about everything that’s been happening. To decide what I want the future to look like because, apparently, she thinks I’m the one holding all the cards between Troy and me.

I say goodbye to her and leave the office. When I’m a few steps down the hall, heading toward the checkout desk, I look up and freeze in place. Troy is already at the desk, and the receptionist hands him what appears to be a receipt. That’s not what has made me unable to move, though. It’s that he’s not alone at the reception desk. Next to him is a gorgeous brunette, clearly younger than me with a body that looks like she works out seven days a week and didn’t push four kids from her. I watch as Troy grabs a pen and a piece of scrap paper on the counter, scribbles something down on it, and hands it to her.

“Thanks.” Her response is simple, but her smile is radiant as she gives him a look I don’t like and then walks away. I watch Troy’s back as he makes his way to the door. When the woman makes it down the hall to where I am, she pauses when she sees me.

“Do you need directions somewhere, ma’am?”

Ma’am? Okay, she’s a few years younger than me, but not enough to be calling me ‘ma’am.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” I’m curter than I intend.

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