The Golden Couple

Grief isn’t linear. It isn’t logical. There’s no structure or civility to it; it grabs you when you least expect it and digs in its nails until you succumb.

Grief is a shape-shifter, it defies logic, sneaking up on you when you least expect it and leaving you empty-handed and hollow when you go searching for it.

Time is a chameleon. It's ever changing, cannily adapting to circumstances. It stretches out some tiny moments for an eternity. Then it shifts course and swallows up whole days, years even, as if they never existed. It's as slippery and elusive as water running through the cracks in a tightly cupped hand.

Grief isn’t linear, it isn’t logical. There’s no structure or civility to it. It grabs you when you least expect it and it digs in its nails until you succumb.

...but now I know some pain is too fierce to battle. You can only duck for cover and hope the sandstorm passes.

One percent of the population is composed of psychopaths, and most of them aren’t the homicidal criminals we envision. We’ve all encountered them: people who seem charming and charismatic, but who lie without remorse and manipulate and deceive. And female psychopaths can be particularly adept at manipulation.

Insomnia can grip us for many reasons: stress, guilt, fear, and rage are among them. An uneasy mind is difficult to quiet.

All marriages contain secrets; of this I’m certain.

TIME IS A CHAMELEON. It’s ever changing, cannily adapting to circumstances. It stretches out some tiny moments for an eternity. Then it shifts course and swallows up whole days, years even, as if they never existed. It’s as slippery and elusive as water running through the cracks in a tightly cupped hand.

Grief is a shape-shifter. It defies logic

I’m also no longer a therapist; I lost my license five months ago.

...but I know some pain is too fierce to battle. You can only duck for cover and hope the sandstorm passes.

Grief isn't linear. It isn't logical. There's not structure or civility to it; it grabs you when you least expect it and digs in its nails until you succumb.

embraced the process wholeheartedly. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret:

Mourn your marriage—or what you thought your marriage was, Avery had said when they’d met for their ninth session. But don’t ever forget the possibilities life holds for you.

I shake my head. I’m beginning to feel sorry for him.

While my coffee brews, I flip through the mail: catalog, bill, junk, bill … and an envelope with the return address for LifeLine, the agency that handled Paul’s life insurance policy. Probably just a follow-up, since they already sent Lana the generous settlement. I slide my finger under the seal and remove the letter. I scan the document quickly at first, then my eyes widen: medical fraud … investigation … misrepresentation … My hand begins shaking and I almost drop the sheet of paper. It sounds as if the insurance company thinks I had something to do with Paul’s death. I sink onto a counter stool, rereading the letter, this time more closely. Then I reach for my cell phone and call my lawyer.

We’re five sessions in, and for the first time I worry that my ten-session method might not work for these clients.

Marissa does know; the gloves were purchased from one of those very stores. The man who came to her house when Matthew was away was wearing them—they were, he told Marissa, his favorite pair, because she’d bought them for him for Christmas.

SAVING UP TO BUY A BABY GIFT FOR HARRY AND MEGHAN.

I guess I was embarrassed.” Polly swallows hard. “I mean, you’ve probably never been rejected by anyone. Look at you! You’ve got this gorgeous husband and a secret admirer.” Not so secret, Marissa thinks, her stomach clenching.

They’re typed in a large, bold font: I’m not letting you go so easily.…

This is the secret she still keeps: the man in the wedding photograph is the person with whom Marissa betrayed her husband.

There was never a man from the gym.

People tend to extend more trust to individuals who are attractive; studies have proven this. Right now, as I take in Matthew’s athletic body, classic features, and straight white teeth, I wonder how much he has benefited from this advantage.

Natalie runs manicured fingertips through her shiny dark hair. She’s every bit as alluring as Marissa indicated. “Yup. I have one child, too, Veronica. She turned six last month.” With a Frozen-themed birthday party, I silently add.

Tell me about one of your favorite moments together, Marissa.” There are so many for Marissa to choose from, whole albums of memories. She selects one of the glossy snapshots: “Just last year, Matthew and I were invited to a black-tie dinner at the Kennedy Center. It was magical. We hired a car and driver and danced all night. He looked so handsome. It was because of his work on behalf of the World Wildlife Fund that we went—” Avery cuts her off. “That’s an Instagram post. Give me something real.

She swallows hard. “I slept with someone,” she blurts. “Just once. But—” “Who?” Matthew’s question cuts like a knife through the air.