An Anonymous Girl(32)

Even though it is tempting to assume the correct course for a client is obvious, it is not a therapist’s job to offer such a blueprint.

It is easy to judge other people’s choices. It is far more complex when the choices are your own.

Imagine that seven years ago, you married a man who infused your life with color and laughter, who upended your existence in the best possible way.

Imagine waking up every morning in the arms of the person who was your safe harbor, whose whispered words of love made you feel a swell of emotions you never knew existed.

Then imagine doubts began to creep in.

Early on in your marriage, your questions about his hushed, late-night phone conversations and abrupt cancelations of plans were met with reasonable explanations: Clients were permitted to call at all hours on his emergency number. And sometimes a client needed an unscheduled session during a crisis.

Trust is a necessary component of a committed relationship.

But there was no explaining away the romantic text that landed on my phone screen three months ago: See you tonight, Gorgeous.

Thomas had said he would be playing poker with a few male friends that evening, and that he would be home late.

When he realized he’d misdirected the text, he immediately confessed. He spoke of his guilt and sorrow.

He was asked to move out that same night. He stayed in a hotel for a week, then he sublet an apartment near his office.

But expunging him from my heart . . . well, that proved far more difficult.

Several weeks after Thomas moved out, a line of communication was reopened.

It would never happen again, Thomas swore. It was a singular indiscretion. She was the aggressor, he proclaimed.

When questioned, he supplied details. The narrative of their clandestine relationship was freely offered by Thomas, though it is typical for offenders to minimize their misdeeds. Her demographic information—first name, age, appearance, profession, marital status—was ascertained.

Thomas seemed to want to rebuild our relationship. With any other man, this would have been impossible. But Thomas is unlike any other man.

And so counseling sessions were scheduled. Difficult conversations were had. And eventually, date nights were reestablished. A rebuilding commenced.

There was only one problem. Certain aspects of his story did not add up.

Uncertainty is an excruciating state in which to exist.

A moral question that never appeared in my study continues to claim prominence in my mind: Is it possible to look someone you love in the eye and tell a lie without experiencing remorse?

A new perspective soon intruded, threatening the fragile peace we were painstakingly trying to rebuild: What if the other woman was merely the kindle?

What if Thomas was the flame?

Perhaps he burned through the one fling that has been verified.

But a fire is perpetually hungry.

One evening shortly after you snuck into the study, Jessica, my husband arrived home and dropped his keys and change in a small dish on our bureau, as was his habit. Mixed in with the coins was a tiny, folded piece of paper: a receipt for a restaurant lunch for two.

Over glasses of wine enjoyed on the couch, a husband tells his wife of the mundane details that comprised his day: the irritating subway delay, the receptionist who learned she was having twins, the lost glasses that were discovered in the pocket of a blazer.

Lost glasses were mentioned. Yet an expensive lunch for two at a Cuban restaurant was not.

Had you not cunningly inserted yourself into the morality study, Jessica, this question might never have been answered. This experiment might never have existed. It is you who is bringing it to life.

Recollections can be faulty; personal agendas can color one’s words and actions. Only by conducting a scrupulously executed inquiry can the truth be independently verified.

You may have given up your dreams of theater, Jessica, but you have earned a starring role in the next act of this unfolding drama.

When your text appears inquiring about your next session, it is as if you are confirming this, urging us forward: It’s time.

You, with that heavy makeup case you lug around and the wild hair you attempt to tame and the vulnerability you fail to hide.

You have proved your devotion today. Your text confirmed how much you need me.

What you don’t know is how much we need each other.


It is time to prepare for the next phase. It begins with the setting. Outer order engenders an inner sense of calm. The desk in the study—just a dozen feet away from the bedroom where Thomas’s pillowcase used to hold the sweet scent of his shampoo—holds a laptop. Excessive alcohol will further muddy the mind, but two inches of Montrachet are poured into a crystal glass and brought to the workspace. There are minimal distractions in the room, facilitating the ability to concentrate on the task ahead.

An unorthodox plan must be considered from every possible angle. Mistakes are born when methodology is ignored.

Conducting an empirical inquiry requires an established protocol: The collection and examination of data. Astute observations. Painstaking record-keeping. The interpretation of results and formation of a conclusion.

The title of the project is entered on the blank screen of the computer: The Temptation of Infidelity: A Case Study.

The hypothesis: Thomas is an unrepentant adulterer.

There is only one subject: My husband.

There is only one variable: You.

Jessica, please don’t fail this test. It would be a pity to lose you.