My fingers stopped tapping. “Online store?”
“Yes. I’ve been on Caitlin’s phone. For security purposes.”
So that was it. The late nights and the way she angled herscreen away when I came close. She was building something.
She owned a hotel. I put it in her name because she should have something that belonged to her. Now she was selling things online, like she still needed to build her own way out of every room she entered.
I never wanted her to work. Not because I doubted her, but because she had spent years carrying everything alone. She pushed herself through difficulties for years. I wanted her to have a break, to have a life that did not require constant rebuilding.
“Boss?”
I came back to the room. “Do what I said.” I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the desk.
Inna thought all I wanted from her was her body. We were long past that, and she still didn’t understand it.
My thoughts ran in circles as I tried to understand how men proved to women that some lines were closed. I tried to find the angle where I could see what I was missing. But I saw nothing. Meaning I was losing this particular battle, and I didn’t like it.
I could ask around, but people like Akim were useless on this front. Akim lost Caitlin to Ivan, which made him more stupid than I could ever be. Roman would laugh if I asked. Rodion had the emotional range of a geologist and somehow still maintained a marriage, which remained one of the mysteries of my life. Grandma would roll her eyes and tell me I needed a therapist first. Which was bullshit I refused to even entertain.
A therapist.
The words stayed longer than they should have.
I scoffed at myself and dragged the laptop closer, intending to push into Plan B, but my hands moved before I fully decided against it. I opened a search engine and typed it, anyway. I searched for ways to get a therapist, and a list of results came up. There were also online therapists, people waiting as if it werenormal to sell access to your mind by the hour. It looked absurd.
I shut the laptop and leaned back. No one could give me a better read on my situation than I could. That was always the principle.
My hand moved, and I opened the laptop again.
The cursor hovered for a moment before I clicked on the first website that led to a private therapist section. A form appeared with categories laid out like inventory. I moved through them without commitment, scanning until I reached marriage and selected it.
A button appeared to request a therapist. I stared at it first before I clicked. A confirmation page appeared with two options. One said they would call me back. The other provided a phone number in case I preferred calling myself. Why did everything involving normal people come with unnecessary complications?
I stared at the number on the screen. I had never looked outside myself for solutions. Problems came, and I handled them. That was how my life worked. I had always been enough for every situation placed in front of me.
I picked up my phone and dialed before I could reconsider. The call started ringing.
There was still enough time to hang up and erase this entire moment of existence.
A woman answered in a calm voice. She began explaining the service, the intake process, and the structure of what I had just signed up for.
“Hello?” she said when I didn’t respond.
“Yes.”
“I can see you’ve selected a few areas you’d like to discuss—”
“Let’s skip to the point,” I said.
A brief silence settled. “Of course. May I start with your name?”
“Why is that necessary?” I asked.
“It’s not strict. I would like to know what to call you.”
“Call me whatever you want. Look, I didn’t call for introductions. I called because my wife changed.” I pointed it out plainly because the woman seemed determined to circle the subject rather than reach it.
“Alright. When did you notice this change?”
