The Therapist

Parts of this story are true, although they are not necessarily my truth, and parts of it are not. I'll leave the reader to figure out which is which. There is no sex and no revenge in this story. Some readers will complain that the husband is too weak, but when a marriage dies it's sometimes enough just to walk away and start again. Consider this an exercise in sarcasm. Anyway, it is what it is, and I hope that some of you can enjoy it.

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Here we are again, sitting in the waiting room outside the office of the marriage therapist that my wife chose for us. We meet with her once every week, and this is our twelfth visit. The therapist doesn't know it yet, but it's also our final visit. I've arranged a surprise for both my wife and our therapist, and in the future they can get together without me to figure out where they went wrong. My wife can pay.

You hear stories about therapists like this one, but I never imagined I'd be enduring one. I call her The Quack. She's a man-hating bitch and it's no more complicated than that. She lives to validate women and their bad behavior. The wife chose her over my objections. Big surprise there! We could have chosen a legitimate therapist together, interviewed them, developed a mutual trust in who we chose, and moved forward to do the difficult work together; but that's not what happened. Ruth needed the deck stacked so she could control the meetings. It's not that I object to therapy; I just don't think that this is therapy. Every complaint that my wife makes comes back to me with, "David, what you need to understand is that you haven't been providing your wife..." Well, at least that ends today.

I suppose a little review of what brought us to this point is warranted. We got married right out of college twenty-five years ago. We have two kids, a boy and a girl, and both are in college. They're great kids, but don't ask me how. I tried to be the best father I could be, but my wife was missing in action so much that my own kids would jokingly call me Dom (as in Daddy Mom) as I tried to fill the void. The first time they did that I bristled, but I quickly realized that they saw I was both mother and father to them. I was fixing their school lunches, helping them with their homework, taking them to little league and soccer games, meeting with their teachers, and, hell, I fixed dinner more often than not and did the dishes, too. My wife's contribution seemed to be limited to complaining about how important her low-paying job was, complaining about me, and being too tired to do much of anything. That's not entirely fair; she did contribute, but as the years went by, she seemed less engaged with her family and more concerned with life outside the home. Complaining about her job gave way to more complaining about me. I never did enough, or I didn't do it right, or we didn't have enough money, or we didn't take the best vacations, or whatever else her dissatisfaction drove her to focus on. The kids saw it and as they grew older, I got a lot of "Dad, you're the best!" That made it all worthwhile.

You know the old story about "How do you boil a frog?" I was that frog. Well, this frog had finally had enough, and I was jumping out of the pot.

I've spent most of my adult life trying to understand what's wrong with my wife. She grew up in a dysfunctional home. It was the sort of thing you'd read about in horror stories if horror stories were about parents that haunt their kids. Her mother was a serial adulteress who used her daughter to cover up her cheating. As a child, she was taught never to tell her father what really went on during those shopping trips. Her father wasn't stupid, but he was weak, and as you might imagine he was a broken man. He was the mouse that roared. So painfully shy that he was barely able to carry on a conversation, he would stop off for a drink after work and then raise hell when he got home. The home became a battleground with no real communication, no sharing, and no joy. As a child, my wife would see the approaching night, gather a few things to eat, and stay in her bedroom to avoid the warfare in the rest of the house. Is there any wonder she turned out the way she did? Deception and manipulation were her stock and trade, and it took me decades to realize that she was profoundly broken and could never truly live within a marriage. That understanding soothed the pain while the love for my kids kept me there until they were grown.

I did sit with a therapist of my own for a time. I explained the pattern that I saw, told her about Ruth's childhood, and kept asking what I could do to fix the slow decay of my marriage. She patiently explained to me that she could only help the person in front of her and that was me. She taught me to take care of myself, stand up for myself, and not be dragged down into the pit of an empty life that was becoming Ruth's existence. I learned to focus on my kids, live for them, and keep the door open in case Ruth ever decided to walk through and rejoin the family.

Now that the kids were in college, I knew the end was near. I couldn't go on this way, and I was fairly sure that Ruth would blow up the marriage soon enough. You see, my own therapist had explained to me that when a child grows up in chaos, they adjust to it. I know it sounds nuts, but she said that whenever life was good Ruth would blow things up because chaos is what she was most comfortable with. It was a revelation. I thought, "I'm not crazy after all!" I'd seen the pattern, but I didn't believe it. Now, with the kids off to college, our finances under control, the house nearly paid off, and the two of us with enough free time to enjoy our time together, she was destined to blow it up.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door to the inner office opening and another couple walking into the waiting room. The husband was looking weepy, and the wife was looking smug. The Quack earned her pay in that session.

I knew the drill by then. We'd wait for The Quack to write her notes on the last session and then the door would open. "Ruth, I'm ready to see you and David now." That was her way of saying, "I've cleaned up the blood, so bring in the next victim!"

Ruth settled on the couch and The Quack always expected me to sit next to her, but this time I chose the chair to Ruth's right with my back to the door. "David, please sit with your wife."

"I'm sorry, but I can see her better from here. Besides, my back is bothering me, and that sofa has never been comfortable for me." Boy, was that an understatement!

The Quack looks annoyed and says, "David, is there anything you want to say following our last meeting?"

"Yes, I would. We keep coming here, supposedly working on our marriage, but I still can't help but think that my wife is cheating on me. I can't move past it and nothing that's been said here changes my mind."

The Quack doesn't even wait for my wife to speak. "David, I've told you before that I am absolutely certain that Ruth is not cheating on you. She and I have talked, and I am convinced that it is all in your mind. You need to drop this and move on."

She doesn't even wait for my response. "Ruth, what do you want to talk about today?" She wasn't subtle with her bias, was she?

Ruth looked down the mental list of my shortcomings and decided on "He doesn't support me!" That's all it took, and she was off to the races. "He complains when I work late and I just want to go out with my friends occasionally to unwind... [and blah, blah, blah]." Ruth was complaining and The Quack was nodding her head. It was just like every other session.

I knew that Ruth would go on for a while, so I allowed my mind to wander. Early in our therapy, in one of our one-on-one sessions and before I understood that our therapist had an agenda, I told her that I thought my wife had been unfaithful in the past. I had no proof, and it was just a feeling. The Quack shut me down, denied the very idea of it, and told me it was all in my head. Two months later my doubts turned to certainty and her opinion went out the window as I prepared for war. It took some time to prepare, but...

"David? David! Are you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I heard. I don't support her."

"Ruth said you're ignoring her and her needs. You're not supportive when she needs to work late and you're jealous when she wants a few hours with her friends."

"Well, I keep coming back to that feeling I have that she isn't faithful to the marriage."

The Quack couldn't even hide her contempt now. "David, suck it up and be a man. I told you, she isn't cheating on you. Your wife needs a man who can step up and take care of things, but if you keep behaving this way, perhaps she should find someone!" The Quack just wagged her head in disgust.

"Ruth, you were saying..."

"He isn't taking care of the house like he used to. He doesn't cut the lawn when he should, the house needs a new coat of paint... [and blah, blah, blah]."

I thought to myself, "I can name that tune in three notes." I must have given away my thoughts. That was sloppy of me.

"David! What are you grinning about? This is serious work we're trying to do here!'

"Sorry." And with that most insincere apology, my mind again began to wander as my wife droned on.

Ruth always insists on taking her own car to our meetings with The Quack. I'm at work, but I could easily pick her up and we could go together. No, that would never do. Then somehow, she is never available in the afternoons after our meetings. I was slow, I'll admit to that, but I finally pulled the cord. I hired a P.I. to follow her starting with the afternoons following our sessions. Sure enough, after every session she would meet up with Bill Peterson at the Best Western by the highway. I expanded the coverage, and it was always every Thursday, but only Thursday. Why weren't they sneaking off every chance they got? It soon became obvious that this was not a new affair and it had been going on for some time. That's when it dawned on me that she was keeping him at arm's length as well. Even with her adulterous boyfriend, she couldn't risk letting him get too close. She was profoundly broken.

They had a standing reservation which made it easy for my P.I. to get a camera and recorder in the room. After I saw that, therapy was just a waiting game while I got all my ducks in a row.

I now had three adversaries to crush: my wife, Bill, and The Quack. When I was ready, I paid a visit to Bill's wife and gave her copies of everything. She used my lawyer. She wasn't a well woman, which gave me some concern, but my lawyer assured me that with her long-term physical problems she could clean him out. That seemed like the revenge I was looking for.

"David? David! Are you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I heard. The house needs a new coat of paint."

"Well?"

At that point there was a knock on the door.

"Who the hell is that?" The Quack was getting up.

"I'll get it! It's for me, anyway."

"For you? David, this is a session! This is sacred time. What do you mean arranging something outside..." I didn't give her time to finish.

I opened the door and there stood Bill and his lovely, if frail, wife Marie. "Welcome! Welcome! Just in time. I'm glad you could make it. Come on in."

Bill looked confused. Marie looked like a woman with a purpose. Her hand shook with a neurological weakness as she placed her cane on each step, but she marched into the room with a purposeful stride.

Bill clearly did not know who I was. He extended his hand and said, "My wife made this appointment. I honestly don't know exactly why we're here."

"Well, let me explain it, Bill. Turning to my right and pointing to my wife on the sofa, I said, "You know my wife, Ruth, don't you Bill?" I've heard about it, but I've never seen it before. The color actually drained from his face as he turned pale white.

"Ah... ah... I don't..."

"No need to lie, Bill. We're all friends here. Therapy sessions are a safe place!" I stole that last line from the first session with The Quack. Coincidentally, she chose to speak up at this point.

"David, what is going on here! How can you interrupt a session this way?"

"Sorry Qua... I mean, Ms. Jacobs. This is Bill Peterson. He and my wife have been having an affair for almost a year now. And before you tell me it's all in my imagination, I have lots of photographs and videos of the two of them rutting at the Best Western."

Turning to Bill, I said, "Bill, why don't you sit next to Ruth. If you can fuck her, you can at least sit next to her while we take care of this nasty business." Then turning to Marie, I kissed her on the cheek and said, "Marie, it's always good to see you. Would you like this chair? It's surprisingly comfortable."

With a smile, she sat and staired daggers at her husband. I took the chair opposite her, so the coffee table was between us, Ruth and Bill were on my right, and The Quack was on my left still making guppy faces (mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out).

"So, isn't this nice? Marie, you're looking lovely as always. How are you feeling today?"

"Better than most days, David. Thank you for asking. I think a weight is about to be lifted off my shoulders."

I had to smile at that remark. Marie was a woman with real problems and a difficult future. Her optimism and upbeat nature were inspirational.

"So, Ms. Jacobs was telling me earlier that my thoughts of Ruth cheating on me are all in my head."

Marie laughed at that.

I looked around the room. "Who wants to see the photographs? I brought my tablet if anyone wants to watch one of the movies." Looking at The Quack, I say, "How about you? Want to watch this asswipe plowing my wife in the affair you told me didn't exist? No? You're awfully quiet all of a sudden."

Turning to Bill, I said, "You know, Bill, fucking my wife is one thing, but I've been her husband for a long time and despite her lies and betrayal I do still have a sense of responsibility for her wellbeing. You have a tendency to fuck her like a whore, Bill. You pound her like a brute. Don't you ever just make love to her, or maybe that's not what she likes now." I looked at Ruth. "Maybe if I knew you wanted to be treated that way, you wouldn't be fucking this slimy coward behind my back."

I never would have predicted it, but she was actually sobbing. For the life of me, I couldn't understand it. She obviously knew that our marriage was over. Bill's marriage was over. She could now have Bill all she wanted or any other man. Why the waterworks? All she was losing was me and she gave every indication that she didn't want me in the first place, except maybe she needed me to provide the emotional stability that she could not provide herself.

Ruth finally found her voice. "I never meant for you to find out. I'm sorry, David. I never meant to hurt you." And on and on, working her way down the list of cheaters cliches. It was so pathetic it was almost amusing.

"Cut the waterworks, Ruth. You've had a year to consider your actions." Looking at the pathetic excuse for a man sitting next to her, I said, "And what is your excuse? Your wife has given you two children, now grown and on their own. She has special needs, and you repay her by sneaking around? Have you ever considered being a man, facing your responsibilities, and being honest with someone just once in your life?" I could see the anger rising in his face and I was more than prepared for it if I got the chance. I never did.

In the end, the two of them just sat there, offering worthless excuses and empty apologies until there was another knock on the door.

"Oops!" I looked at Marie. "It looks like our last guest has arrived."

Up until this point The Quack has been surprisingly silent. This got a second outburst from her to which I simply shrugged and opened the door. A middle-aged man in a cheap suit stepped into the office and I pointed to the sofa. "That's them."

He walked over to the two cheaters, hands them each a manila envelope, and said, "Ruth Harper, Bill Peterson, you have been served." Then he snapped a photograph and turned away. That's all there was to it. I suppose it was the first time he'd served anyone in a marriage therapist's office because he gave me a wicked smile as he passed and quietly left the room.

I closed the door behind him and reclaimed my seat. "Well, this has been quite a day, hasn't it? I can see by the clock on the wall that our hour is about up. Perhaps Ms. Jacobs can spend the last few minutes with the cheaters to help them process what's happened here today." I turned to her and added with more than a little sarcasm in my voice, "And maybe you can figure out how you could get it all so horribly wrong."

I rose, helped Marie to her feet, and took her arm as we left the office. Walking slowly down the hall I asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so. When you first showed me the evidence of their betrayal, I was lost. I wondered how the man I married could do that to me? I know now that he isn't the man I married, or the man I thought I married. All I'm losing is a memory, or an illusion of what I thought I had and didn't."

It struck me that she was speaking for both of us.

She looked at me and said, "I still have my children and my grandchildren will be along in a few years. I'll be okay."

"You also have friends. Don't forget that and maybe, in time, you might count me among them."

She smiled a sad smile, patted me on the arm, and said, "I already do."

"In that case, what would you say to having lunch with a friend?"

She smiled the first real smile I'd seen all day and said, "I'd love that!"

We both drove our own cars to lunch. It started out as a melancholy meal with each of us quietly reliving the sad events of the day. We knew it was coming. We had planned it together. Still, it was the end of two marriages and the end of lives we had worked to build and thought we had. We talked about the two of them for a time and finally decided it was time to begin moving forward. So we talked about our kids and about all that was going on in our town.

We even discovered that we had a few mutual friends, and I knew that they would be there for us both. "You know that when this is all over, our friends are going to try setting us up on blind dates with all their single friends." I gave a spontaneous shudder at the thought. She laughed quietly and said, "It won't be that bad. Who knows? You might even enjoy it." All I could do was shake my head and sigh.

As we talked, I grew more optimistic for both our futures.

I finally arrived home without a care about where the cheaters went, separately or together, or how they got there. They may have gone off together to plan their mutual defense, or to seek lawyers, or perhaps they just headed for their weekly rendezvous. She probably gave him a ride regardless as Marie had their car.

Of course, it was never as simple as that. Ruth came home later and tried every apology she could think of. She even threw in a few blames in the process because we all know that when a woman cheats it must be at least partly her husband's fault. I wondered if The Quack was still coaching her?

When she finally ran out of steam and sat there sobbing, I decided it was my turn. I kept it short and to the point. "Ruth, for all our marriage I've felt sorry for you. The home you grew up in was hell on Earth. I knew you were wounded by that life, but I thought that you had escaped largely intact. I thought that if I provided you with a truly loving marriage, you could heal and become the woman that I knew you wanted to be. What I didn't understand is that you aren't capable of healing. You are profoundly broken. With every progress we made, whenever life was going well, you would blow it up. You aren't capable of being happy. All you know is sadness and destruction. I can't live that way anymore and I won't live with a liar and a cheat. We're done, Ruth. The kids are grown and it's time for us to go our separate ways."