~Vivian~
I sat in Dr. Morrison's waiting room like a condemned prisoner. Nathan was beside me, scrolling through his phone, probably texting one of his women.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carter?" The receptionist called.
I looked up and saw a tight-lipped, slicked back tightly bun, immaculate white and black suit receptionist, flashing her teeth at us. Yes, because I wouldn’t call that a smile at all.
“Dr. Morrison is ready for you,” she said. “This way, please.”
She led us through a wide hallway, decorated with photos of popular and influential people that the marriage therapist had counselled. I sincerely hoped to God that it won’t be our faces splashed on there next.
Dr. Morrison was exactly what I'd expected. He was in his mid-fifties, gray beard, expensive suit, and a boring sleepy accent. Th
