Chapter Ten
Logan
This morning.
I slide Myles his glass of juice and give him a small smile. “Here you go, buddy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he says, already reaching for it.
I turn back toward the refrigerator and take my time putting the carton away. “Hey, I’ve got a meeting at ten. I’m gonna need about an hour of quiet, so I’ll take it in the bedroom.”
Jess pauses at the counter. “Oh.” Then, “What’s it about? Do you need me?”
The question catches me off guard.
I pretend not to hear it.
“River,” I say instead, “you want anything to drink?”
“Water, please,” he answers, mouth already smeared with Nutella.
I laugh and grab him a glass, ruffling his hair as I set it down in front of him.
Then I scoop up my laptop and head toward the hallway.
“An hour,” I repeat over my shoulder, not looking at Jess.
For good measure, I lock the bedroom door behind me.
I know that probably makes me an asshole, but what am I supposed to say? That I’ve got a Zoom with a therapist to deal with her lies?
I drop into the armchair by the window and set the laptop on the windowsill. It balances there awkwardly, and I stare at it for a second.
We really need to get some damn tables set up around here.
Another thing for the list.
At ten on the dot, I connect to the call.
Dr. Brett’s face pops up on the screen.
He’s not wearing his glasses today, and for some reason that throws me off. He looks… different. Younger maybe. Or just less competent.
I keep staring longer than I mean to.
“Mr. West,” he says.
I blink. “Right. Yeah. Hi, Dr. Brett.”
He smiles slightly. “It’s been a long time.”
I nod, cringing internally. Probably should’ve gotten a new therapist.
“So,” he says, folding his hands. “How’s life?”
I let out a slow breath running a hand through my hair, thinking about how insane the last few days have been. I made this appointment because I was scared Jess still hadn’t forgiven me.
And now…
“Alright,” I say, leaning back. “This is gonna come as a surprise. Hell, it was a surprise to me.”
Dr. Brett nods. “Take your time.”
So I do.
I tell him everything.
Halfway through, I have to stop and take a breath because I can feel my anger climbing again. But I push through it. I get it all out.
When I’m done, I just sit there staring at him through the screen, waiting.
Finally, he speaks.
“That must have been a lot for you.”
I blink.
“That’s it?” I say. “Of course it was a lot. She made me feel like an asshole for a year while she did something way worse.”
“I understand that,” he says calmly. “But right now I’d like to focus on you. How do you feel?”
“Pissed,” I snap. “I feel fucking pissed.”
He nods. “It would be concerning if you weren’t.”
That takes a little wind out of my sails.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “The thought of her pretending to be the victim all this time… it makes me even more angry. All those nights we talked, all the times I apologized, all the times I was worried about her and trying to make things better…”
My jaw tightens.
“She just let me.”
Dr. Brett nods. “That must be hard for you.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter.
He leans forward slightly. “I’d like you to take a moment and tell me… how do you feel about the actual act of her infidelity?”
I let out a harsh laugh.
“How do I feel about it?” I repeat. “I’m not happy about it. My wife slept with someone else.”
Saying it out loud still feels surreal.
“She actually…” I trail off, shaking my head. “Even talking about it is enough to gut me. You can’t even comprehend the kind of things that have been running through my head.”
There’s a long silence.
“What kind of things?” Dr. Brett asks carefully.
“I just can’t stop picturing it,” I admit. “Her with this nameless, faceless guy. My wife. With someone else.” My jaw tightens. “It keeps replaying whether I want it to or not.”
I drag a hand down my face.
“And now I’m supposed to what?” I continue. “Just decide. Just like that. Am I staying or leaving? Am I forgiving her or walking away?”
Dr. Brett studies me carefully.
“No one expects you to make that decision immediately,” he says. “You’re allowed to take time.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Tell that to her. I asked for space and she gave it, but she keeps looking at me like… like I’m hurting her.”
I trail off, because I know he’ll get it.
“And that makes you uncomfortable,” he finishes.
I nod. “Yeah. It does.”
“You feel the need to end that conflict?” he says.
“Pretty much,” I admit. “Sucks to be me, huh?”
“Mr. West,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “you are allowed time. You don’t owe her emotional comfort right now. Not at the expense of your own process.”
That makes me bristle.
“So I just ignore her?” I ask.
“No,” he replies calmly. “But Mrs. West has the same resources you do. It’s not your job to take care of her or help her manage the fallout from her mistakes.”
I shift in the chair, uncomfortable with how right that sounds.
“I know your instinct is to be the protector,” he continues. “The compromiser. The one who smooths things over. But can you honestly say you feel capable of that right now?”
I shake my head before he even finishes.
“I’m not,” I admit. “I know I’m supposed to love her… but I don’t really like her right now.”
He nods, like that makes perfect sense.
“What about the kids?” I ask, my eyes drifting to the locked bedroom door. “I can’t just shut down in front of them and I won’t move out.”
“Of course not,” he says. “But protecting your children does not mean pretending everything is fine.”
I let out a breath. “So… what? Fake it.”
“No,” he corrects gently. “There is a technique known as structured separation. In which spouses remain in the same house to raise their children, but they don’t operate as a couple while they work through their issues.”
I frown. “You mean like roommates.”
“In simple terms, yes,” he says. “Boundaries. Clear expectations. No emotional conversations unless both parties agree to them. No pressure to reconcile. Just stability for the children while you figure out what you want.”
That makes sense.
“But that sounds… cold,” I mutter.
“It can feel that way,” he admits. “But it’s often healthier than constant conflict or pretending to be okay when you’re not.”
I think about Jess in the kitchen, the way she keeps glancing at me like she’s waiting for permission to breathe.
It’s not like I can ask her to move out. I mean I could but she didn’t ask me when I was on the other side of this.
“So I just… coexist with her,” I say.
“For now,” he replies. “You focus on your own feelings. What you need. What you can and cannot handle.”
I lean back in the chair, actually considering it.
Dr. Brett folds his hands. “It can help to put a timeline on this. It doesn’t have to be rigid, but it avoids stagnation. Otherwise, people get comfortable in limbo and never move forward.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. Limbo pretty much describes our marriage for the last year.
“Now,” he continues, “I know from your history that you and Mrs. West saw Dr. Nina before. If you’d like, I can help book a session with her once that period ends.”
I nod slowly. “Maybe… sixty days?”
He nods back. “Sixty days is reasonable. Enough time to cool off, process, and then come back to the table with clearer heads.”
Sixty days.
Two months.
It feels both too long and nowhere near long enough.
“Alright,” he says. “Now, would you like to talk about how you’re going to bring this up to Mrs. West?”
I let out a short, dull laugh. “I guess I can’t just expect her to… read my mind.”
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me expectantly.
I huff. “Fine.”
By the time the session ends, I have a clear script in my head. Or at least something close to one.
Dr. Brett helped me put together the words I’m supposed to say to my wife about why I will not be talking to her for the next sixty days.
I chose that number partly because I need it, and partly because Myles’s birthday is in February, just short of the two-month timeline.
I decide to wait until after the kids go to bed. No point dropping a bomb like that in the middle of the day.
When I come out, Jess already looks tense. More than usual. Like she hasn’t taken a full breath all morning.
So I do what I’ve usually done whenever she’s overwhelmed.
I take the kids.
“Alright,” I tell them, forcing a smile. “Movie time. You two pick something so Mom can have a minute.”
Jess glances at me like she wants to say something, then thinks better of it.
The boys immediately launch into a debate over what to watch. I sit on the couch beside them, pretending to referee, when I notice Jess out of the corner of my eye.
Something’s off.
She’s sitting at the kitchen table now, shoulders practically touching her ears, arms wrapped tight around herself. Her foot is bouncing so fast the chair is shaking.
“Jess?” I ask. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t even look at me.
Instead she stands up abruptly and heads straight for the front door.
Not normal.
“Hey,” I call after her, getting to my feet. “Jess, what’s wrong?”
No response.
I turn the TV on to the first cartoon I can find and give the boys a quick, “Be right back,” before following her.
By the time I reach the front door she’s already shoving her feet into her boots, hands trembling so badly she can barely hold them.
“Jess, where are you going?” I ask.
She ignores me completely, fighting with the sleeves of her coat like they’re too tight.
I step closer. “Jess.”
Nothing.
“Jess,” I say louder. “It’s freezing out there. Where the fuck are you going?”
Finally, she answers, breath shaky. “I just need air.”
Before I can say anything else, she yanks the front door open and slips outside, letting a blast of cold air rush in.
And just like that, she’s gone.