Mistress Therapy

Three - Collision

"So, when did it all start? Have you both been having problems right from the beginning?" I asked gently, hoping to steer the conversation in a productive direction. On my first day as a marriage counsellor, I had already encountered a major challenge.

"From the start," she replied bitterly, her voice dripping with resentment. "He has never been a good husband."

He scoffed at her words. "The same way you've never been a good wife? Just sitting at home all day, not cleaning the house, not cooking? And always smoking cigarettes!" His voice rose, filled with frustration, and before I could react, she slapped him.

He stood up in a fury, his face red with anger. For a moment, I was frozen, unsure of what to do. "Don't you dare touch me, Jacqueline," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm only holding back because I'm not a wife-beater."

She folded her arms, unbothered. "You don't scare me, Nate. Now, sit your ass down, or else I'll call our parents and tell them you don’t want therapy!" Her tone was firm, and he fumed but eventually sat down, distancing himself from her.

"Mr. Hendrix, please, let’s calm down and continue," I said, trying to diffuse the tension. He huffed, crossing his arms but staying seated.

"As I was saying," I continued, "can you both share your own opinions about your relationship? Has it always been like this? Do you truly feel this way about each other?" I asked, my voice soft but serious, hoping they could express themselves without erupting again.

She sighed, calming down. "Not all arranged marriages end in love, and we're an example. Our parents set the wedding for us, and you know how it is at first—you think you know the person, but you really don’t. I'm trying not to say anything bad about Nate right now, so I'll just stop here. I'm tired of his actions. Sure, he acts like a husband sometimes, but most of the time, he's just… Nate, I guess."

"Mr. Hendrix, can you tell me how you feel about your marriage?" I asked, turning my attention to him, who stared at me with his intense hazel-green eyes.

"I feel trapped. My every move is being watched. I have to clean up her mess all the time, and I can’t keep up with it." His voice was firm, and I could sense the frustration in his tone.

"Maybe if you had asked this question three years ago, I would’ve had a different response. Not entirely, though—we never cared about each other back then. But now, it’s bad. How can you live with a man for five years and still not know he’s allergic to avocados? I have to save myself, or I’ll die in her hands," he said with genuine exasperation, while she scoffed dismissively.

"Okay, so what are you two hoping to gain from this therapy?"

"I’m hoping he stops being a jerk, and we can go back to not caring about each other like before. I would've divorced him a long time ago, but this marriage wasn't mine to set, so I can't do anything. And if I'm going to live with this man for the rest of my life, then some things need to change," Mrs. Hendrix said bluntly, her words sharp.

Mr. Hendrix exhaled heavily. "I hope I can live in peace in my own house without having to worry about daily chores. And I don’t want to die from the smoke," he added, taunting her with a sideways glance.

"Alright," I said, sensing that their tempers would be a challenge to work through. "It seems you both have strong feelings about this. Let's start immediately. You’re thirty-three, and your wife is thirty, is that correct?" I asked, hoping to keep things moving.

"Yeah, imagine spending your mid-twenties in a loveless marriage. Don’t you pity me?" She asked, a bitter tone in her voice. I offered an awkward smile, unsure how to respond.