Updated Oct 30, 2025 • ~10 min read
The lavender scent was stronger this time, almost cloying.
Samantha sat in the same chair as last week, watching Jared settle into his seat with the easy confidence of someone who actually wanted to be here. He’d dressed up again—button-down shirt she’d never seen before, the expensive jeans, cologne that definitely wasn’t the woody one from his dresser.
Dr. Leigh appeared in the doorway, and Samantha noticed the way Jared straightened in his chair, the way his face brightened like someone had turned on a light behind his eyes.
“Welcome back.” Dr. Leigh’s smile was radiant, but it wasn’t directed at Samantha. Her gaze landed on Jared and stayed there, warm and focused. “It’s so good to see you both again.”
The “both” felt like an afterthought.
Dr. Leigh took her seat on the leather loveseat, crossing her legs in one fluid motion. Today she wore a burgundy wrap dress that hugged her curves in a way that seemed effortless but probably required Spanx and professional tailoring. Her hair fell in perfect waves, and her makeup was subtle but flawless.
Samantha glanced down at her own outfit—dark jeans, a sweater with a small coffee stain on the sleeve she’d discovered too late. She’d stopped trying to compete with women who looked like Dr. Leigh years ago, but sitting here, watching her husband’s face, she felt the old inadequacy creep back in.
“So.” Dr. Leigh pulled out her leather portfolio, her pen poised. “How did the homework go? The daily check-ins and date night?”
Silence stretched between them like a rubber band about to snap.
“We did the check-ins,” Samantha offered, though “did” was generous. Three nights, they’d managed maybe five minutes of conversation before Jared claimed exhaustion and disappeared into the guest room. “They were… good. A start.”
Dr. Leigh’s eyes flicked to her briefly before returning to Jared. “And the date night?”
“We had to postpone,” Jared said, his voice carrying an apologetic tone Samantha rarely heard directed at her. “Work has been insane. But we’re planning to do it this weekend.”
That was news to Samantha. They hadn’t discussed this weekend. They’d barely discussed anything.
“I see.” Dr. Leigh made a note, her expression thoughtful. “Jared, can I ask—when you say work has been insane, what does that feel like for you? Emotionally?”
“Exhausting.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Like I’m constantly behind, constantly disappointing someone. My boss wants more, clients want more, and at home…” He trailed off, glancing at Samantha with something that might have been guilt or might have been irritation.
“At home?” Dr. Leigh prompted gently.
“At home, I feel like I’m failing too.” His voice cracked slightly, and Samantha felt her chest tighten. “Like nothing I do is good enough.”
Dr. Leigh’s face softened with sympathy. “That sounds incredibly difficult. Carrying all that pressure.” She leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “How does that make Samantha feel when you say that?”
It took Samantha a moment to realize she’d been asked a question. “I—I don’t want him to feel like he’s failing. I just want him to be present when he’s home.”
“Present,” Dr. Leigh repeated, writing something down. “Can you define what that means for you?”
“Not on his phone constantly. Actually having conversations. Following through on plans we make.” Samantha heard the edge in her voice and tried to soften it. “Simple things.”
“I hear you.” Dr. Leigh nodded, but her attention was already shifting back to Jared. “Jared, when Samantha says she wants you to be present, what’s your emotional response to that?”
“Pressure,” he said immediately. “More pressure. Like I can’t just exist. I have to perform. Be ‘on’ all the time.”
“That must feel suffocating,” Dr. Leigh said, and her hand reached out—natural, instinctive—and touched his arm. Just above the elbow. Her fingers rested there for a beat, two beats, three, while she held his gaze. “You’re allowed to need space, Jared. That’s not failure.”
Samantha watched that hand. Watched the way Jared’s expression shifted under Dr. Leigh’s attention, the way his shoulders relaxed, the way he looked at the therapist like she was the first person who’d ever truly understood him.
Dr. Leigh withdrew her hand slowly, as if reluctant to break the connection. She sat back, crossing her legs again, and flipped a page in her notebook. “I’m wondering if it might be helpful for me to have some individual sessions with each of you. Sometimes couples therapy works best when we can explore personal barriers separately.”
“Really?” Jared perked up. “You think that would help?”
“I do.” Dr. Leigh’s smile was warm, intimate. “There are things you’re carrying that might be easier to unpack without worrying about how Samantha will react. And vice versa.” She glanced at Samantha almost as an afterthought. “What do you both think?”
Samantha’s instincts screamed no. Every cell in her body rejected the idea of this woman spending time alone with her husband. But what could she say? That she didn’t trust the therapist they were paying three hundred dollars an hour? That she’d found a one-star review about unprofessional conduct? That she’d noticed the way Dr. Leigh touched Jared’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world?
“Sure,” Samantha heard herself say. “If you think it would help.”
“Wonderful.” Dr. Leigh was already pulling out her phone. “Jared, do you have time next Tuesday? Say, 5 PM?”
“I can make that work.” He pulled out his phone too, typing into his calendar with more enthusiasm than he’d shown for anything involving Samantha in months.
“Perfect.” Dr. Leigh’s smile could have lit up the room. “And Samantha, let’s get you in for Wednesday at the same time. How does that sound?”
“Fine,” Samantha said, though nothing about this felt fine.
For the rest of the session, Dr. Leigh peppered Jared with questions about his childhood, his relationship with his father, his fears about intimacy. She nodded along with his answers, made affirming sounds, occasionally touched his arm again with that same casual intimacy.
Meanwhile, when Samantha spoke, Dr. Leigh’s attention seemed to drift. She’d look down at her notes, glance at the clock, shift in her seat. It was subtle, so subtle that Samantha questioned whether she was imagining it. But the contrast was stark. When Jared talked, he had Dr. Leigh’s complete focus. When Samantha talked, she felt like background noise.
“I think what’s really important here,” Dr. Leigh said as their time wound down, “is that you both feel heard and valued. Jared, you need to know that your feelings of overwhelm are valid. And Samantha—” She turned to her with a practiced smile. “You need to examine whether some of your expectations might be contributing to the pressure Jared feels.”
The words landed like a slap. Suddenly, this was Samantha’s fault? Her expectations were the problem?
“I don’t think wanting my husband to come home for dinner is unreasonable,” Samantha said carefully.
“Of course not.” Dr. Leigh’s tone was soothing, condescending. “But we have to ask ourselves—are we making requests, or are we making demands? There’s a difference.”
Jared was nodding along like Dr. Leigh had just unlocked the secrets of the universe.
“For homework this week,” Dr. Leigh continued, “I want you both to practice what I call ‘generous interpretation.’ When your partner does something that hurts you, try to interpret their behavior in the most generous possible light. Assume good intentions rather than malice.”
Samantha bit her tongue. Hard. Generous interpretation felt like code for “stop noticing when your husband treats you like garbage.”
They stood to leave, and Dr. Leigh walked them to the door. “Jared, I’ll see you Tuesday. I’m really looking forward to our session.”
The way she said it—the warmth, the emphasis on “really”—made Samantha’s stomach turn.
In the car, Jared was animated again. “I think those individual sessions are a great idea. She really seems to get the pressure I’m under, you know?”
“Mm-hmm.” Samantha gripped the steering wheel, watching Dr. Leigh through the office window. The therapist was at her desk, but she wasn’t writing notes. She was looking at her phone, smiling.
“You okay?” Jared asked, already half-focused on his own phone.
“Did you notice she touched you a lot during that session?”
Jared’s fingers paused on his screen. “What? No. She didn’t.”
“She touched your arm. Multiple times.”
“That’s just—” He huffed out a breath. “That’s what therapists do, Sam. It’s called building rapport. You’re being paranoid.”
Maybe she was. Maybe the lack of sleep and the constant knot in her stomach were making her see threats that didn’t exist. But paranoia was just pattern recognition before confirmation.
“I looked her up,” Samantha said quietly. “There was a review. A woman said she had unprofessional conduct with her husband during couples therapy.”
“Are you serious right now?” Jared’s voice went cold. “You’re trying to sabotage this because you can’t handle someone calling out your behavior. Dr. Leigh is trying to help us, and you’re inventing drama.”
“I’m not inventing—”
“We’re doing this,” he cut her off. “The individual sessions, the homework, all of it. We’re doing this because our marriage is dying, and I’m not ready to give up yet. Even if you are.”
The accusation stung more because part of her wondered if it was true. Was she looking for reasons to distrust Dr. Leigh because she’d already given up? Or was her gut trying to tell her something her brain didn’t want to accept?
She drove home in silence, Jared scrolling through his phone beside her, occasionally smiling at something on the screen.
When they pulled into the driveway, he was out of the car before she’d even turned off the engine. “I’ve got calls to make,” he said, already heading for the guest room.
Samantha sat in the dark garage for a long moment, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.
Then she pulled out her phone and googled: “Dr. Leigh Westmore credentials.”
The search results showed a website, professional affiliations, a pristine online presence. But Samantha kept scrolling, kept digging, looking for the crack in the facade.
On page three of the results, she found another review. This one on a different site, also removed but still cached.
“Started seeing Dr. Westmore for marriage counseling. Three months later, she was sleeping with my husband. Reported her to the licensing board but nothing came of it. She’s a predator in professional clothing.”
Samantha screenshotted it. Then she sat in her car and did something she hadn’t let herself do in weeks.
She cried.
Not because she was sad. But because somewhere between Dr. Leigh’s lavender-scented office and her husband’s individual therapy session scheduled for Tuesday, Samantha realized she was already losing him.
The only question now was whether she was going to fight for him or let him go.
By the time she walked into the house, her face was dry and her resolve was steel.
She wasn’t giving up. Not yet.
But she also wasn’t going to ignore the warning signs anymore.
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