POV: Lewis | Location: New York
"Tell me about your marriage."
Lewis stared at the therapist across the desk.
Dr. Walsh was in her fifties. Steady eyes. No judgment in her expression — just patience, the particular kind that made men confess things they hadn't planned to say.
"My wife left," Lewis said. "Three weeks ago."
"I know. You told me on the phone." She folded her hands. "I asked about your marriage. Not about her leaving."
He looked out the window.
New York moved below them — indifferent, mechanical, unchanged.
"My marriage," he repeated. "Was efficient."
"Efficient."
"We functioned. I worked. She managed the household. We attended events." He paused. "We had separate rooms."
"Whose idea?"
"Hers. After our anniversary."
"Which one?"
"The third. I forgot it."
Dr. Wal
