Page 23 of One More Chance
She crossed her legs, setting the clipboard aside. “Tell me – what exactly are you hoping for? Because if your wife isn’t open to couples therapy, individual counseling could still be beneficial for her. Or for you.”
I nodded. “I agree. I want to give her every tool she might need to get through this. Even if," I struggled and took a breath, "even if I’m not in the picture anymore.”
She studied me for another long moment, before she gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “A loving spouse,” she said. “Well except for the obvious.”
I huffed a short, bitter chuckle. “Yes, well… hence the STD test and the vasectomy. I know that I messed up.”
There was no judgement in her reaction, just the quiet matter-of-factness that I imagine comes from years of hearing confessions in a clinical setting. “Well, the STD test is a smart step towards ensuring you don't cause more harm. I recommend condoms until you get the test results.”
"Yes, ma'am."
She stood and jotted something down on her clipboard before turning back to me. “Look, I’m not a therapist, but I do want to mention something you may not be aware of. Have you heard of hysterical bonding?”
I blinked. “No. What is that?”
“It’s a psychological response that sometimes occurs after betrayal,” she explained. “A kind of emotional whiplash. Despite the pain, the betrayed partner may suddenly feel intense intimacy toward the person who hurt them. Sometimes, it’s sexual. Often, it’s confusing. It’s not inherently healthy, but it is common.”
“So…” I trailed off, unsure how to even ask, “we shouldn’t have sex at all?”
She gave a quiet sigh. “I’m not saying that. But you need to make sure it’s somethingshereally wants. Not just her trauma trying to keep her safe. You’ve been married for how long?”
“Seventeen years this year. We were high school sweethearts.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
Dr. Taylor’s expression softened, the clinical edge in her tone losing a bit of its sharpness. “Then keep this in mind: she is going through a traumatic experience. Right now, her body and brain might not be on the same page. If she seeks out physical closeness, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s forgiven you. It might be her survival instincts; her nervous system reaching for familiarity, for comfort.” She paused, watching me carefully. “That push and pull you might feel from her? The hot-then-cold? That’s not manipulation. It’s not cruelty. It’s her trying to make sense of something senseless. Trying to reclaim control in the only way she can. And that confusion is not her fault.”
I nodded slowly as the doctor's words settled.
She said, “Given how long you’ve been together, how much history you share, it’s almost impossible for you two not to react to each other. That bond doesn’t just vanish, even when it’s broken. Especially when you still love them. Your job now isn’t to interpret what every touch or glance from her might mean. If you want to earn her trust back, your job is to give her what she asks for. To be safe, consistent and honest. It's up to her to decide what closeness means, if it means anything at all.”
I nodded again, this time with a little more understanding.
“If the two of you do decide to reconnect physically, make sure it’s mutual, clear, and without pressure. Have the conversation first. Protect her peace, not just her body.”
My voice barely above a whisper I asked, “Are you sure you're not a therapist?"
She laughed at that as she handed me a pamphlet, a referral slip, and a lab order form. “I know the path back is a long and hard one,” she said as she opened the door. “But sometimes it’s not about the return. It’s about the path you take and the choices you make along the way."
I left the clinic feeling better than I had when I'd walked in. I placed the pamphlet in the passenger seat and thought about how to broach the subject of couples therapy.
Just then, Sloane texted if I could watch the kids; she was going to be stuck at the clinic until late that night. I didn’t hesitate. I was already reversing by the time I replied, "Of course." Not because it was the right thing to do, but because I missed them. I missed being needed by them.
I took Violet with me to pick out groceries for dinner, relying on the Gluten Free app on my phone to help me navigate the shopping. Old Me had never gone grocery shopping and would have been clueless on how to find anything celiac safe.
On our way to checking out, Violet asked, "Can I pick out flowers for Mommy? Some that match the ones you sent to her?"
"She'd love that," I said with a smile.
So, when we returned home, Violet was excited to set daisies and lavender in a mason jar on the kitchen table, right next to the blue hyacinths and white roses. It was a small gesture, but it mattered to Violet. Her eyes lit up and it filled my heart to see her so happy.
While Violet helped me put away the groceries, she chattered away about the two large projects she was working on for her school's science fair: a diorama of the solar system and the classic baking soda volcano.
“I want you to help me build them,” she said, tugging at my sleeve. “Mom said I could do it on my own, but it’s more fun with you! You've helped Liam before with his.”
My throat went tight.Damn, this kid is amazing. I nodded. “Of course, baby girl. I’d love that.”
Violet beamed and skipped off to gather the materials for her projects. Liam, who had been hovering quietly near the fridge, finallybroke his silence. "You don’t have to act like everything’s fine," he said, his voice flat and guarded.
Ah, yes. There is my angsty boy.
