Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~9 min read
Session two began with Dr. Henning asking to see our homework.
Jeremy went first, reading in a steady voice:
“One: I prioritized building financial success over emotional connection. I thought providing materially was enough, but Rose needed presence more than presents.
Two: I didn’t communicate my fears. I never told her why work consumed me. I just expected her to understand or accept it.
Three: I let her leave without fighting. When she needed me to chase her, to prove she mattered more than the company, I let her go. That was cowardice, not respect.”
Dr. Henning nodded. “Good. Honest. Roselyn?”
My hands shook as I read:
“One: I never told Jeremy how bad things were until I was already planning to leave. I gave hints instead of direct communication.
Two: I ran instead of fighting for us. I chose self-protection over vulnerability.
Three: I never tried to understand why work mattered so much to him. I made it about me when it was really about his trauma.”
Silence filled the room.
“Now,” Dr. Henning said. “How do you feel hearing each other’s assessments?”
Jeremy spoke first. “I didn’t know you saw my relationship with work as trauma-based. I thought you just saw it as… rejection.”
“I did see it as rejection. Until recently.” I looked at him. “But Dr. Henning’s question made me think. About your dad. About why you couldn’t stop working even when I begged.”
“It wasn’t about not loving you. It was about proving I wasn’t him.”
“I know that now.”
Dr. Henning leaned forward. “Jeremy, if you could go back, what would you do differently?”
“Everything. I’d cut my hours. Hire a COO earlier. Actually come home for dinner.” He paused. “And I’d tell Rose about my father. About the fear that if I failed financially, I’d lose her like my dad lost my mom.”
My chest tightened. “I wouldn’t have left you for not making enough money.”
“But you left me for not being emotionally available. Which to me felt the same—I wasn’t enough.” His eyes held mine. “We were both operating from fear. You feared becoming your mom. I feared becoming my dad. And neither of us talked about it.”
“Roselyn,” Dr. Henning said. “Same question. What would you do differently?”
“I’d use my words. All of them. Instead of expecting Jeremy to guess what I needed.” I took a breath. “And I’d stay. I’d fight instead of running.”
“Would you? Or are you just saying that because hindsight is clear?”
The challenge in her voice made me think.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The me from five years ago was so scared of conflict. Of becoming my parents. I’m not sure I could have stayed even if I wanted to.”
“And now?” Jeremy asked. “Could you stay now?”
I met his eyes. Saw hope there. Fear. Vulnerability.
“I don’t know. I’m still scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of you going back to old patterns. Of me running again. Of us hurting each other.” I twisted my hands. “Of trying and failing. Again.”
Dr. Henning made notes. “That’s honest. Fear is valid. But let me ask—are you more afraid of trying and failing? Or of not trying and always wondering?”
The question sat heavy.
“Both,” I whispered.
“Jeremy? Same question.”
“I’m terrified of trying and failing again. But I’m more terrified of Rose marrying someone else and me spending the rest of my life knowing I didn’t fight hard enough.” He turned to me. “I can handle you saying no. What I can’t handle is you saying no without giving us a real chance first.”
“We had a chance. Three years of chances.”
“We had three years of two kids who didn’t know how to be married. We’re different now.” He leaned forward. “Give me six months. Real six months. Where we actually date properly. Communicate. Go to therapy. Do it right.”
“Jeremy—”
“If after six months you still want the divorce, I’ll sign. No fight. No manipulation. Clean break.” His voice dropped. “But if there’s any chance—any at all—I’m asking you to try.”
Dr. Henning watched us both. “Roselyn, what would you need to feel safe trying?”
“Boundaries. Clear ones.” I thought about it. “No manipulation. No showing up unannounced. No using work or lawyers to force proximity.”
“Done,” Jeremy said immediately.
“And therapy. Weekly. Not just these six court-mandated sessions.”
“I’m already seeing a therapist individually. Have been for two years.”
That surprised me. “You have?”
“Working on my workaholism, communication issues, fear of failure.” He smiled ruefully. “Turns out losing you was a pretty good motivator for personal growth.”
Something in my chest cracked.
“What else?” Dr. Henning pressed. “What else do you need?”
“Honesty. Complete honesty. About where he is, what he’s doing, how he’s feeling.” I looked at Jeremy. “I need to know you’re choosing me. Not out of guilt or stubbornness, but because you actually want this. Want us.”
“I do want us. More than anything.” He reached across the space between our chairs. Didn’t touch, just offered his hand. “I’m choosing you, Rose. Every day. Even when you’re choosing fear.”
My eyes burned.
Dr. Henning’s voice was gentle. “Roselyn, you don’t have to decide today. Take time. Think about what you want. But be honest with yourself—are you saying no because it’s actually wrong? Or because you’re scared it might be right?”
The session ended with more questions than answers.
Jeremy walked me to my car.
“I meant what I said,” he told me. “Six months. Full effort from both of us. If it doesn’t work, I’ll let you go.”
“And if I say no to the six months?”
“Then I’ll respect it. But I’ll also know I tried everything. No regrets.” He opened my car door. “Think about it. No pressure.”
But there was pressure. The pressure of his eyes. Of five years of unresolved feelings. Of the possibility that maybe, possibly, we could actually make it work.
I drove home in a daze.
Julie was waiting at my apartment with wine. “Spill.”
I told her everything. The therapy. The homework. Jeremy’s offer.
“Six months of dating?” Julie frowned. “Rose, you’re still legally married. How is that dating?”
“We’d be dating within the marriage. Trying to see if we can make it work before deciding to divorce.”
“That’s the most backwards thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.”
“Are you actually considering it?”
I poured wine. “Maybe.”
“Why? After everything he put you through?”
“Because maybe Dr. Henning’s right. Maybe we were just kids who didn’t know how to be married. Maybe we’re different now.”
“Or maybe he’s just better at manipulation!” Julie set down her glass. “Rose, think about this. Really think. Jeremy shows up, disrupts your entire life, forces you into therapy, and now you’re considering reconciliation? That’s not love. That’s Stockholm syndrome.”
“It’s not—”
“Isn’t it? He’s been controlling this entire situation from day one. Unsigned papers, stalking you, workplace interference. Now he’s got you questioning your own judgment.”
She had a point. “So what do I do?”
“Make a pro/con list. Like we did in college for every major decision.” She pulled out paper. “Pros of trying with Jeremy?”
I thought about it. “He’s changed. Grown. Done actual therapy work.”
“Alleged change. What else?”
“The chemistry is still there. Obviously.”
“Sexual chemistry isn’t the same as compatibility.”
“I know, but it matters.” I sipped wine. “He knows me. Really knows me. The good and bad. And he still wants me.”
“Okay. Cons?”
“He broke my heart once. Could do it again.”
“Big con.”
“I don’t know if I can trust him. Trust that he won’t fall back into workaholic patterns.”
“Another big one.”
“And I’m scared. Of trying and failing. Of looking stupid. Of everyone saying they told me so.”
Julie squeezed my hand. “Those are valid fears. But Rose? Only you can decide if the possibility of it working is worth the risk of it failing.”
I stared at the list. Pros and cons roughly equal.
“What did you think of Charlie?” I asked suddenly.
“Charlie?” Julie looked surprised. “I thought he was nice. Safe. Good for you after Jeremy.”
“But did you think we’d last?”
She hesitated. “Honestly? I thought you’d get bored eventually. Charlie’s wonderful, but he’s not… challenging. He lets you hide. Jeremy never did.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Depends if you want to keep hiding.”
After Julie left, I pulled out my phone. Stared at Jeremy’s last text.
No pressure, he’d said.
But the pressure was there. From the court, from therapy, from my own traitorous heart that had kissed him and couldn’t forget how it felt.
I typed: If I agree to six months, I have more conditions.
His response was immediate: Name them.
We tell people what we’re doing. No secrets. No pretending to be divorced while we try to reconcile.
Agreed. What else?
Separate homes. You don’t move in. We date properly. Like new couple would.
Makes sense. Next?
I can stop anytime. If it’s not working, I don’t have to complete the six months.
A longer pause.
That one’s harder. Because you could bail at the first sign of discomfort.
Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.
Another pause.
Fine. But you have to promise to actually try. Not just go through the motions.
I promise to try if you promise to actually change.
Deal. When do we start?
I stared at my phone.
Was I really doing this? Giving my ex-husband—my current husband—six months to prove we could make it work?
It was insane.
But I typed anyway: Tomorrow. Fresh start. You ask me on a proper date. First date. No work, no lawyers, no therapy. Just us.
I can do that. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.
Text me the address first. And Jeremy?
Yeah?
Don’t make me regret this.
I won’t. I promise, Rose. This time I won’t.
I set down my phone and wondered what the hell I’d just agreed to.
Six months of dating my husband.
To see if we could fall back in love.
Or if we’d just break each other’s hearts all over again.
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