As a psychologist, Kate often navigates the turbulent waters of troubled relationships. But when Colin’s case takes an unexpected twist, Kate finds herself breaking protocol and stepping into uncharted territory. What secrets lie behind Colin’s fractured family, and can Kate uncover the truth?
I was waiting for a new client, feeling a familiar curiosity and readiness. The man had mentioned over the phone that he was having some problems with his wife. As a psychologist, this was something I often encountered, so it was nothing unusual.
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I glanced around my office, making sure everything was in place. The door opened, and I saw Colin, my new client. He was tall and looked a bit nervous.
“May I?” Colin asked, standing hesitantly at the door.
“Yes, of course, come in,” I said with a reassuring smile.
Colin walked in slowly, glancing around before settling on the couch opposite me. He looked nervous, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
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“So, what brings you here?” I asked, hoping to put him at ease.
“I already mentioned that I have problems with my wife,” he replied in a cold, defensive tone.
I could tell this would be a tough session. “I know, but why don’t you tell me more about it?”
Colin sighed, looking away. “She won’t let me take care of our son. She insists he’s only hers.”
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“And how does that make you feel?” I asked, watching his reaction closely.
“It hurts. He’s my son too,” Colin said, his voice tight with emotion.
I knew that hurt often masked deeper feelings, like anger. “Does it make you angry that you can’t spend time with your son?”
“No, I said it hurts,” he snapped, his frustration evident.
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Working with men often meant navigating their reluctance to admit feelings. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”
“Yes, but she ignores me. She says she regrets marrying me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Why do you think she says that?” I asked, trying to understand the root of their issues.
“I don’t know. She keeps saying that our son is only hers and she will never have more children with me. We just had a baby. It should have brought us closer,” Colin said, his voice filled with confusion and pain.
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“Oh, so you have a newborn?” I asked, understanding more about their situation.
“Yes, he’s just a month old,” Colin replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
“I see. Some women have a hard time after childbirth and fall into a depressive phase. Could it be related?” I suggested, trying to explore all possibilities.
“No, she’s fine. She takes good care of our son,” he said, shaking his head.
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“And what did you mean when you said your wife doesn’t want more children with you?” I asked, sensing a deeper issue.
“She says it’s because I’m a bad father. But she doesn’t even give me a chance to be one,” Colin said, his frustration clear.
His wife’s behavior was strange. Usually, postpartum depression causes a woman to withdraw from everyone, including the child. “I understand your feelings. Can you recall any events that led to this period in your relationship?”
“Not really. Everything was fine. Though, she has this friend, Toby. They spend a lot of time together, and at some point, I even started doubting if the child is mine,” he admitted, his voice filled with insecurity.
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“Are you against their communication?” I asked, trying to gauge his feelings.
“Of course, who would like their wife spending time with another man?” he said, his anger bubbling to the surface.
“Nowadays, friendships between men and women are quite common, and if there’s no hint of betrayal, I don’t think it’s worth stressing over,” I said, hoping to calm him.
“So, you think she’s cheating on me too?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
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“That’s not what I meant at all,” I clarified, trying to steer the conversation back to his feelings.
“I don’t know, it all seems like cheating to me,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
“Just because they communicate doesn’t mean she’s cheating,” I reiterated, but Colin seemed to ignore my words, twisting everything to fit his narrative. People often do that, living in illusions rather than facing the truth. However, I couldn’t understand what truth Colin was justifying.
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I glanced at the clock above the couch and realized our session was coming to an end. “Colin, I’m afraid we need to wrap up,” I said gently.
“But I haven’t covered everything. I thought one session would be enough,” Colin said, his frustration evident.
“Many think that, but it’s rarely true. Shall I book you for another session?” I offered, knowing he needed more time.
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“Yes, please,” he agreed, a bit of hope in his eyes.
We scheduled our next meeting for the following week, and I saw Colin out of my office. “Take care,” I said as he left. Colin just waved goodbye, his mind clearly elsewhere.
I returned to my office and sighed heavily. Some clients drained all my energy, but I loved my job, and it was part of it. So, I sat back in my chair and prepared for the next client, ready to help them navigate their own struggles.
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A week later, Colin was due to see me again. All week, his case had lingered in my mind. I had a nagging feeling that he wasn’t telling me everything.
“Come in,” I called out when Colin knocked on my door. He entered the office, moving slowly. He sat on the couch, avoiding eye contact.
“So, how have you been?” I asked, trying to gauge his mood.
“Same as before,” he replied, sighing. “She hardly talks to me. But she was very kind when Toby, that friend I mentioned, came over.”
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“Yes, I remember. How do you feel about that?” I asked, watching his face.
“I want to punch him,” Colin said, clenching his fists.
Anger can be useful if managed well, but I wasn’t sure Colin could handle it. “What does your wife say about it?” I asked, trying to understand more.
She says they’re just friends. But who calls just a friend to be at the birth?” he said, his voice rising
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This was interesting. “Can you tell me more about that?” I asked, leaning forward.
“My wife went into labor, but I couldn’t take her to the hospital because my mother had an accident, and I was going to pick her up from the hospital. It was nothing serious, but she was shaken. So I told my wife to call my sister, who lives 20-25 minutes away, to take her to the hospital.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but didn’t your wife also need to go to the hospital? Why didn’t you take her and then go together to your mother?” I asked, puzzled.
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“Because my mother lives in a neighboring town, and the hospital was there too,” Colin explained, a bit irritated.
“I see. Please continue,” I urged him gently.
“Instead of calling my sister, she called Toby because he supposedly lives closer,” Colin continued, his jaw tightening.
“And that’s why he was at the birth?” I asked, trying to piece it together.
“Yes,” Colin confirmed, his eyes flashing with anger.
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“How did you find out about it?” I asked.
“My sister also came to the hospital and recorded a video for me. I saw my wife holding Toby’s hand during contractions. When I brought my mother home, I asked my sister to FaceTime me. I saw Toby comforting my wife, doing everything a husband should do,” Colin said, his voice trembling.
“Why didn’t you go to the birth after taking your mother home?” I asked, sensing there was more to the story.
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“My mother said she felt unwell and asked me to stay,” Colin admitted, looking down.
So the mother comes first. That’s always a problem, I thought. When men put their mothers first, the marriage won’t last long. “And you decided to stay with her?” I asked, my tone neutral.
“Yes, and when I came the next day and visited my wife, she wouldn’t even let me hold our son. She said I didn’t deserve it,” Colin said, his voice cracking.
“How did you react?” I asked, giving him space to express his feelings.
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“I called her a cheater for having another man at our son’s birth,” Colin said, tears forming in his eyes.
“Do you think that was a good idea?” I asked softly.
“I don’t know, but it’s the truth. And she humiliated me in front of our relatives by saying I didn’t deserve to hold our son because I didn’t take her to the hospital. I’ve apologized a thousand times, but she still won’t let me near our son,” Colin said, his voice filled with despair.
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I nodded, letting Colin vent his frustrations. “I did everything for her, and she does this to me. She could have just called my sister, not Toby. Do you understand why I think she’s cheating on me? And I think that’s why she won’t let me take care of our son, because he’s not really mine,” Colin finished, his shoulders slumping.
I sat back, thinking about what Colin had shared. His pain was real, but his perception might be clouded by his anger and jealousy.
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I still felt he wasn’t telling me everything. We discussed the situation again, but I still couldn’t understand why his wife called another man to the birth. Maybe it was some form of revenge for Colin not coming.
After our session ended, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. For the first time in my career, I decided to break protocol. I left work, got in my car, and twenty minutes later, I stood in front of Colin’s house.
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I felt nervous and unsure, knowing this was unprofessional. But I also knew I had to talk to his wife to get a better understanding.
I knocked on the door, and after a moment, a tired woman with a baby in her arms opened it. She looked at me, puzzled.
“Excuse me, are you Colin’s wife?” I asked gently.
“Yes, I’m Emily,” she replied, her brow furrowing.
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“Nice to meet you. My name is Kate. I’m Colin’s psychologist, and I’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind,” I said, trying to put her at ease.
“Alright,” Emily replied, still looking confused. She led me to the living room, and we sat on the couch. The room was cozy, cluttered with baby items.
“I don’t want to beat around the bush, so I’ll get straight to the point. Colin mentioned that you won’t let him take care of your son,” I said, watching her reaction.
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“Well, I have my reasons. I don’t trust him, and I can’t trust him with my son,” Emily replied firmly.
“Is it because he didn’t come to the birth?” I asked, wanting to understand her perspective.
“Yes, even though I told him how important it was for me. Instead, he wanted his sister, who hates me and always belittles me, to be there. I didn’t want her there in such a vulnerable moment, but she came anyway,” Emily said, her voice shaking with emotion.
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This information changed everything. “I understand you, but maybe you could forgive him? I can suggest a family therapy session. After all, he wasn’t just sitting at home; he was helping his mother, who had an accident.”
Emily looked at me sharply. “Is that what he told you? He was helping his ex-girlfriend move because she was relocating.”
Oh my God, what a nightmare, I thought. This was why I decided to talk to Emily; I knew Colin wasn’t telling me everything. “Colin also complained that your friend was there,” I said, trying to remain neutral.
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“Toby, yes. We’ve been friends since third grade, and there’s never been anything romantic between us, but I trust him. That’s why I asked him to take me. Besides, he lives closer than Colin’s sister,” Emily explained.
“Have you tried talking to Colin about this?” I asked, feeling the tension in the room.
“I tried, but he doesn’t listen. He says he’s apologized a hundred times for not being at the birth. But he did it just to hear me say I’m not angry. I can’t trust my child to someone who doesn’t care about me. How can I know he cares about our son?” Emily said, tears welling up in her eyes.
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“Have you considered leaving?” I asked, sensing her desperation.
“I have, but I don’t have a job or money. I’m financially dependent on Colin,” Emily admitted, looking down.
“Did you know his sister was on FaceTime with Colin the whole time you were in labor?” I asked, feeling the need to share this piece of information.
“What? No, that’s horrible. I didn’t even notice her,” Emily said, her face paling.
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“Emily, if you really want to leave him, I can help you,” I said, offering her a lifeline.
“Really?” she asked, her eyes widening with hope.
“Yes, you can’t raise a child in such conditions,” I said firmly.
Half an hour later, Emily and her son’s belongings were in my car. I was glad I had come to see her and heard her side. I hoped I could help them find a better path.
The drive back to my office was quiet, but I felt a sense of purpose. This was why I became a psychologist, to help people like Emily find the strength to change their lives.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: One evening, I agreed to look after my best friend’s son, and that night changed my life forever. What I discovered made me see my surroundings in a completely different light. How can I now cope with the revelations that have shattered my trust in those closest to me? Read the full story here.
My husband created a new schedule to ‘improve my role as a wife’ — I taught him a lesson in return
I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
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