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Sara
The doctor is a tall woman in her late forties. If Sandra Bullock had played the stylish boss/villain in The Devil Wears Prada, she might’ve looked something like this therapist, right down to the trendy designer glasses.
“Hello,” she says, sticking out her slim, perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Dr. Wessex.”
“Hi.” I shake her hand. “I’m Sara.”
We’re in another house similar to the one Peter and I are staying in, in a small office with a window facing the road. I can see Peter pacing around outside; Dr. Wessex was adamant that he couldn’t be present during my therapy session.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sara.” She takes a seat behind a glossy table, and I sit down on the reclining chair on the other side. “Your husband has told me a little bit about what brings you to me today, but
