Chapter Eight
Jess
I decide to leave Simone’s when I realize she might not be as on my side as I need her to be.
I get that I lied. I really do. But I expected my best friend to… I don’t know. Stand with me. Even if she didn’t agree, I thought she’d at least be in my corner.
Apparently not.
I huff as I climb into my car and shut the door harder than necessary.
So where am I supposed to go now?
My parents are out of the question. Logan’s parents have already taken his side, well, his dad has. Normally I could count on Angela to take the opposite stance of Sean out of pure spite, but when it comes to her kids she’s full-on mama bear.
And, annoyingly, I can’t even blame her for that.
“God,” I mutter, starting the engine. “Being an adult sucks.”
In high school, even in college, I had a whole group of girls I could call to vent. Women who would’ve shown up with wine coolers and nail paint to make me feel better.
But they’ve all moved on with their lives.
That’s what I get for only holding onto one friendship.
For a split second, I consider finding a lawyer.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
No. I’m not there yet.
Logan is just angry. Shocked. Once that wears off, he’ll calm down. We’ll talk.
I mean… I forgave him, so-
I wince at my own thoughts.
Wow. Even in my head that sounds self-centered.
Instead of driving aimlessly, I turn in a completely different direction.
Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in the parking lot of Orange Cove Therapy Center with the engine still idling.
Biting my lip, I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here.
I didn’t want therapy when Logan practically begged me last year. I barely made it through two full marriage counseling sessions before deciding we were “fine.”
Now here I am, sitting outside a therapist’s office like it’s my last lifeline.
Because it is.
I don’t really have any other choice.
A bitter laugh slips out of me. It turns into a shaky chuckle, then into something dangerously close to a sob.
I slam my head back against the headrest.
“How the hell did I end up here?” I whisper.
But I already know the answer.
And now… so does Logan.
I jump out of my skin when there are two hard knocks on my passenger window.
Wiping at my tears as fast as I can, I roll the window down to find an older woman leaning against the car door. She tilts her head, studying me with soft concern.
“You okay?”
I swipe at another stray tear. “What, crying in the parking lot of a therapy center isn’t kosher?”
One gray eyebrow lifts.
I let out a shaky breath. “I’m just… having a hard time. That’s all.”
She reaches into her pocket and holds out a small card. “I’m Claudia,” she says. “I work here.” She gestures toward the building behind her.
“Oh, Jessica” I reply, taking it without really looking. Honestly, I don’t need the card to believe her. She has one of those faces, like she’s someone you can trust.
“I have an hour for lunch,” she says. “Do you want to join me?”
I blink. “Is that something you normally do?”
She smiles. “It is for people I find crying in my parking lot.”
A surprised laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
I bite my lip, considering. The thought of walking in that building and sitting on a sofa crying about my life isn’t really something I’m looking forward to.
“Okay,” I say finally.
Putting the car in park, I step out and shut the door behind me.
Only then do I realize I forgot my phone at Simone’s.
It won’t matter anyway. It’s not like Logan will care much about where I am right now. Still, it feels strange to be without it, like leaving the house without a bra.
Thankfully, I always carry some cash.
I just hope it’s enough to cover this impromptu therapy lunch.
Claudia leads me across the street to a little diner tucked between two office buildings. It’s one of those retro places with a jukebox in the corner and staff wearing pink polka-dotted uniforms. Some nineties song I vaguely recognize hums through the speakers.
I must be staring, because she glances at my dubious expression and smiles.
“I know it looks a little questionable,” she says, “but trust me. Best food in the area.”
Deciding I don’t really have a better plan, I put my faith in her judgment and follow her to a booth by the window.
When the waiter comes over, I just order whatever Claudia orders, a cheeseburger and fries. I’m not usually this indulgent, but I also haven’t eaten anything all day.
As we wait, I awkwardly stare out the window at the cars passing by, suddenly very aware that I’m sitting with a total stranger who somehow convinced me to have lunch with her.
Claudia clears her throat gently.
I turn back to find her watching me with that same calm, patient smile.
“This is usually the part where you tell me what’s wrong,” she says.
I shift in my seat. “Don’t you get tired of listening to other people’s problems? I mean… it’s your break.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “If I didn’t want to listen, I wouldn’t have invited you.”
Then she tilts her head slightly. “But I can already tell you don’t really believe in therapy.”
“What?” I blurt. “No, I do. I mean, yeah. For people who need it. You know, like PTSD and stuff.”
“What’s ‘stuff’?” she asks mildly.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Hard times.”
“And are you having a hard time?” she asks.
I give her a tight smile. She’s good.
I lick my suddenly dry lips and take a sip of water, grateful when the waiter arrives with our food and gives me a moment to breathe.
Claudia unwraps her burger like this is just another ordinary lunch.
I watch her for a second, then blurt out the truth before I can overthink it.
“I… uh… cheated on my husband.”
“Oh,” Claudia says calmly, taking a bite.
I don’t know why, but her complete lack of shock actually makes me feel better. Like I’m not the biggest disaster she’s ever seen.
I nod. “Yeah. It was about a year ago. But he found out yesterday and… well.” I let out a shaky laugh. “He didn’t take it great.”
Claudia wipes her mouth with a napkin and studies me.
“I imagine he wouldn’t,” she says gently.
I stare down at my fries. “He told me he never wants to see me again.”
Her eyes soften. “How do you feel about that?”
I pick up a fry and drag it through the ketchup.
“I’m angry,” I admit.
“Angry,” she repeats. “Why?”
“Because he cheated first,” I say before I can stop myself.
She tilts her head. “Tell me.”
So, I do.
I tell her everything, how he swore Lenore was just a client, how he suddenly went back into the field only for her, how he spent late nights texting another woman while lying beside me in bed.
I tell her about the kiss.
About them spending the night together in the same suite.
“He had an affair,” I say, my voice shaking a little. “It might not have been physical, but emotional affairs still count.” I twist the napkin in my hands. “He lay in bed next to me texting her, smiling at his phone, and I’m just supposed to believe nothing happened? That it stopped at a kiss?”
Claudia studies me. “You don’t believe him?”
I hesitate.
“I didn’t,” I admit quietly.
She waits, giving me space.
“I went to confront the woman,” I continue. “She wouldn’t even see me. I ended up at a bar instead. Drunk. Angry.” I swallow. “And I made a terrible decision.”
Claudia nods, not interrupting, not judging.
“But here’s the part I don’t understand,” I say. “He seems more furious that I didn’t tell him than about what I actually did. Does that even make sense?”
“It can seem like that,” she says gently. “Sometimes when the pain is too much, we focus on something… not as painful. It doesn’t mean the deeper pain isn’t there.”
I let out a short breath and admit, “Logan has always been a possessive man. I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now.” Biting my lip I ask, “what do I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do to manage his reaction,” she replies calmly. “This is something your husband has to walk through on his own.”
My chest tightens. “That’s why I couldn’t tell him.”
She tilts her head slightly.
I swallow. “I’d already hurt him. But he didn’t know. So in a way… I got to decide when to break his heart.”
“You told him?” she asks gently.
I nod. “I wasn’t planning on it. But he was being so apologetic, taking the blame for the distance between us, and it just… I couldn’t take it anymore. So I...”
“You confessed,” she finishes softly.
“I did,” I whisper. “And I thought I’d feel relieved afterward. But all I feel is regret.”
“For what happened?” she asks. “Or for telling him?”
“I…” I stare at my hands. “I know I regret what happened. I regretted it even while it was happening.” My voice cracks slightly. “But I regret telling him right before our family week. He was so excited about finally spending time with the boys, and I ruined that.”
“He would’ve been hurt no matter when you told him,” Claudia says gently. “His anger? That part was unavoidable.”
I swallow.
“What matters now,” she continues, “is what you do going forward.”
I stare at her. “Do you mind telling me what that is?”
She smiles indulgently. “Right now? It’s you finishing your lunch.”
I blink and glance down at my plate. It’s still half full. Hers is completely empty.
I look back at her, bewildered. “You were talking the whole time.”
She just shrugs.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I pick up my burger and finish it, trying not to look like an emotional animal inhaling comfort food.
When the waitress brings the bill, I immediately drop cash on the tray.
Claudia starts to protest. “Jessica, you don’t have to-”
“I took up your whole lunch break,” I say firmly. “This is the least I can do.”
She studies me for a second, then nods.
As we walk back toward the therapy center, she slips her hands into her coat pockets and glances at me.
“So,” she asks casually, “what do you think about therapy now?”
I give a small smile. “It’s a great place to vent.”
She chuckles softly. “Therapy is whatever you need it to be.” Then she tilts her head. “Have you and your husband tried marriage counseling?”
I nod. “We did last year. We saw Dr. Nina.”
“And?”
I hesitate. “And I… after I…” I trail off. “Anyway, I told Logan I was done with it.”
Claudia watches me carefully. “And now?”
I swallow hard.
“Now,” I admit quietly, “I’d do anything to get him to go with me.”