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Aubrey sat with his hands clasped in front of him, elbows resting on his knees as the ticking clock on the wall filled the quiet between him and Dr. Lena.
"I'm not who I used to be," he said slowly. "I don't yell anymore. I don't shut down or throw shit or make her feel small just 'cause I feel overwhelmed. I walk away now. I breathe. I go hold Aaliyah or sit with my thoughts. That little girl... she taught me patience I didn't know I had."
Dr. Lena nodded. "You've done real work, Aubrey. You've shown up—for yourself, for Jasmine, for your daughter. But we both know there's one last thing you're still holding back."
He swallowed hard. "I know."
They'd been here before. Six months ago, he sat across from her, confessed the thing that knotted in his gut every time Jasmine said "my husband" with stars in her eyes.
"I married her because I was scared of losing her," he'd said then, voice shaking. "Not because I was ready."
And Dr. Lena hadn't pushed. She told him to sit with it. To grow through it. To make sure he wasn't telling Jasmine just to cleanse his guilt, but because their marriage deserved truth.
Now, he nodded. "It's time, isn't it?"
"I think you know it is," she said gently. "You two are in a stronger place now. This isn't about breaking trust—it's about building on it."
Later that evening, Jasmine adjusted the strap on her satin dress as she stepped into the mirror's glow. Her hair was pinned up, earrings swinging delicately with each turn of her head.
"Where are we going?" she asked, smoothing her dress.
Aubrey appeared in the doorway, dressed in all black, a subtle nervousness in his eyes.
"Dinner," he said simply. "Somewhere private."
She looked him up and down. "You look serious. Is this a 'we need to talk' dinner or a 'let me remind you I'm still fine as hell' dinner?"
He cracked a small smile. "Little bit of both."
The rooftop restaurant overlooked the city, warm lights casting golden hues across the table. They sat under a canopy, candlelight flickering between them. Jasmine toyed with the edge of her napkin.
"You're quiet," she said softly. "Not like... angry quiet. More like you're thinking too much."
Aubrey leaned back in his seat, took a deep breath, then leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"I had a session earlier today," he said. "You know that. But there's something I've been working through that I never said out loud to you. Because I wasn't ready. And because my therapist didn't think we were ready—you and me. But we are now."
