Walter & Natalie
Chapter 1: Growing a Set
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: Growing a Set - Walter had just about enough of Natalie's constant complaining and miserable attitude. Theirs was a marriage at the breaking point.
"Walter, are you going to cut the lawn, or are you just going to sit in front of the TV and do nothing?"
Fuck! I'd just finished washing both cars, raking the leaves, and cleaning the back deck. Apparently that wasn't enough for my darling Natalie. I grabbed the remote and pushed the power button, turning off the college football game that was about to start the second half. I pushed myself up out of the big chair and stomped off to the garage. I knew better than to resist the irresistible. Do what you're told, Walter. Don't make waves. You'll pay for it if you do. Resistance is futile, sayeth the Borg.
I wonder what other tasks Natalie had contrived to create for me this weekend. Clean the windows? Power-wash the driveway? Tidy up the basement? Muck out the gutters? I was sure they would all be on her list. It was just a matter of timing. Just when I thought I had fulfilled my honey-do obligations, she would pull one of these tasks out of the hat.
I had a fourteen year-old son and a twelve year old daughter who might have contributed to these efforts, but no. Natalie didn't want them to be bothered with chores during their youth. They were to have fun and socialize in their spare time, she said. I was here to provide them with the funds for their enjoyment. Their allowances were ridiculous in my opinion, but not as far as Natalie was concerned. She saw their weekly stipend as barely above starvation level. At least in that regard I hadn't bent. I did wonder, however, if their mother had been supplementing their income.
Sounds miserable, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't always this way, but lately, or at least during the past couple of years, it had become more and more unpleasant. How did it get that way? Because I let it get that way. I would go along to get along. Don't make waves. Keep peace in the valley.
The rationalization for this state of affairs was simple. I was a hard-working guy and the only breadwinner in our family. I went to work and was gone from seven in the morning until six at night. An unpleasant commute took up two hours of that time, but the rest was nose-to-the-grindstone hard work, pushing tax forms from one side of my desk to the other.
I used to look forward to the weekends, but lately, I had been having second thoughts. It seemed that Natalie was dreaming up everything she could think of to keep me occupied rather than resting and relaxing from a taxing week's work, pardon the pun. What's more, I had been accepting it. Not willingly, I'll admit, but just the same, I'd never said no.
That's me, all right. Never say no. Never stand up on my hind legs and protest. No ... just go along to get along. I'm Walter McGuire. I'm thirty-seven, going on seventy. I stand six foot tall, give or take. I weigh about a hundred-and-ninety, give or take. Blonde, thinning hair, blue eyes, reasonable looking, left-handed, and passive.
Natalie, my once beloved wife, is a half-foot shorter than me, maybe a hundred and twenty-five pounds, decent tits, nice ass, brown eyes, reddish-brown hair, and fairly good looking. Even after having our two children, her body wasn't much different than when we were married.
She was Natalie Pellman when I met her. Her father was the vice principal at our high school, so she had some problems getting dates. I didn't know any better, so I was the one who pursued her ... and in the end ... won her. We dated, had sex after about six months of fooling around, and got married when I finished college.
At first, everything was just great. We had sex regularly, at least three times a week. Natalie found a job in a retail clothing store and worked there until she became pregnant with Robert. She almost immediately quit her job and stayed home to prepare herself for motherhood. I didn't mind. She didn't make enough to add much to our household income and what she did earn, she spent on clothes for herself. Two years later, she was pregnant with Karen, and the cycle repeated itself.
I loved our children. They were wonderful additions to our family and they proved to be bright and happy kids. Both of them had little trouble with school, and we were proud of their accomplishments as they grew. Robert soon became Rob and proved to be a very good little league second baseman. I don't think I ever missed a game. Now he was in middle school, playing for school team, still doing very well.
Karen was artistic. We recognized her skill almost from the beginning, as she began to play with crayons, then graduating to pencil and watercolors. She had an eye for color and composition, and it showed in her work. She would spend hours creating drawings and paintings when she wasn't out playing with her friends or in school. She was remarkably talented for a twelve-year-old.
Lately, the children had taken to being with me more than their mother. Perhaps it was because I always expressed an interest in what they were doing, but maybe also because they could see tension between their mother and me. That tension was eating at me, as well as the children. Yet I did nothing about it. I was reluctant to create a crisis in the household, so ... I ... did ... nothing.
"Walter, are you going to fix this leaking tap, once and for all?"
"Which tap is that, dear?"
"The kitchen tap! Don't you pay any attention to what I'm saying? That damn tap has been leaking for weeks and you've done nothing about it."
"Well ... to be honest ... I haven't noticed any leak at all. You'd better show me."
"It's not leaking now, you fool. It's when I'm using it to do the dishes that it drips."
"I don't ever remember you saying anything about it leaking," I said, wondering what the fuss was about. Changing a tap washer might take ten minutes, most of that sorting through my box of spares to find the right size and shape.
"Don't give me that! I must have told you a hundred times it was leaking and you do nothing! Sometimes I wonder what I saw in you."
I looked at her. Her face was red and anger was written all over it. What the fuck was this all about, I wondered.
I was about to say something in reply when she turned and stomped out of the kitchen and off to her private little room in the back of the house. It was supposed to be a fourth bedroom, but she had commandeered it when we bought the house and it was her room.
I leaned back on the kitchen counter and wondered just what was going on. Was she suffering from depression? Was she that unhappy with our marriage? Did she want out? I had no way of knowing. I sighed the sigh of the weary. One of these days I was going to have to deal with it. Whatever "it" was.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking she's having an affair. No chance. Why? Because there was no evidence that she had the time. She didn't go out in the evenings. She had a house to clean and meals to prepare and children to look after. On top of that she had her sewing and reading to keep her occupied. I suppose she could have made time for a lover, but it was so unlikely that I had dismissed it as bordering on the absurd.
I had pretty much made up my mind that we were headed for a show-down over her behavior. It would have to happen when both kids were out of the house, but I was already rehearsing my speech to her. Yeah, that's right. I was finally sucking it up and facing the facts. Our marriage was in trouble and neither of us seemed to want to admit that. Well, for once in my life, I would take the initiative. It might all blow up in my face, but at least I would have taken the first step.
As it turned out, both Karen and Rob were out one Sunday afternoon, and I knew it was time to beard the lion in its den; in this case, Natalie's private room. I knocked on the door to announce my presence and she looked up surprised.
"Natalie, I think it's time we had a talk."
She looked at me curiously, then asked, "Why?"
"I should think that was obvious. Your leaking tap tantrum the other day was just a symptom. Your attitude in general is very negative, especially toward me. Even the children have noticed it. I'd like to know why you feel that way."
The look she gave me was one of complete astonishment. You'd have thought I had sprouted two heads.
"What are you talking about? I don't have a negative attitude."
"Yes ... you do. And, to be honest, I'm tired of it and I don't intend to go on accepting it any more. If you're not happy with me ... if you want me out of your life ... then say so. I can deal with that. But this constant harping and nagging and the endless list of my shortcomings has got to stop. The one way I can think of accomplishing that is to leave."
She looked completely bewildered.
"Do you have any sense of what you say or how you say it?" I continued.
"I admit, you can be aggravating at times, but to call our marriage into question over a little thing like a leaky faucet is a bit much, Walter."
"It isn't about a leaky faucet. It's about how you treat me and how little affection you show me. This isn't something new, Natalie. It's been building over the last two years. I've made the mistake of not doing something about it until now."
"Do you really feel I don't love you any more?"
"That's the impression you're giving me. I don't know what other conclusion I could draw from your behavior."
She sat there motionless, her mouth open and eyes wide in surprise. After a few moments she looked away and then turned back to me.
"You're wrong, you know. I mean ... I do love you ... I'm sure I do."
"What does that mean?" I asked aggressively.
"I mean ... I can't think of any reason not to love you."
"That makes no sense. I think you need professional help."
"You think I'm crazy?" she asked in complete shock.
"No ... but you need some help in understanding just how you've been behaving. If you're in any doubt about what I'm telling you, I suggest you talk to Karen or Rob. Perhaps they can open your eyes. Apparently you don't believe me."
For the first time I saw a look of fear in her face. My voice had been quite firm and unyielding, but not loud. It was a big change from my normal tone and she must have picked up on that. There was a "no nonsense" quality about it.
I didn't expect what came next. "What do you think is wrong with me," she asked in a meek voice.
"I don't know. Perhaps you are suffering from depression. That's treatable and not uncommon in this day and age. One thing is certain; you need help if you are truly unaware of just how you've been acting."
"Yes ... yes ... I suppose you're right," she said, looking completely lost and confused. "What should I do?"
"Nothing. I'll call our doctor and get an appointment for both of us. I want to make sure I know what he's suggesting."
She nodded, saying nothing. I wasn't giving her any room for discussion or argument with my attitude towards her. I was taking over, if she hadn't figured it out. It was past due.
Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. I think the children had sensed a change in the mood, and hadn't figured out just what that change meant. I had a talk with them before they went to bed.
"I guess it's no surprise that your mother and I haven't been getting along," I began.
"Are you going to get a divorce?" Karen asked, her eyes immediately brimming with tears.
"No. At least, not now. I've had a talk with her and she and I will be visiting Doctor Holmes to see what we can do about her problems."
"What kind of problems?" Rob asked, looking gloomy as well.
"I'm sure you've noticed how unhappy she has been lately."
"She's been a real bitch," Karen said quickly.
"Enough of that language, young lady. I know what you mean, but that kind of talk isn't necessary."
She nodded, looking contrite. In the meantime, Rob was smirking, obviously agreeing with his sister's assessment.
"She may be suffering from depression. It's a treatable problem, so that's why we're going to get professional help. Doctor Holmes can recommend someone who can provide counseling, and then we can get started helping your mother get better."
"Is she going to have to go to the hospital?" Karen asked.
I shook my head. "Usually, these kinds of problems are dealt with by medication and behavior therapy. We'll just have to wait and see what he says."
Both our children looked relieved at that, and moments later we hugged and they went off to their rooms. I stood and watched them go. I hadn't relieved all their worries, but they seemed happy that I had told them what was going on. There had been precious little of that in this household in the past while.
Natalie and I lay in bed, but not touching each other. She was emotionally fragile and I didn't want to create any new problems. I know she was awake as I could hear the occasional sigh and even a sob now and then. It was going to be a long night for both of us.
I called my office to advise them I would be late and would let them know when to expect me. Shortly after eight, I called Doctor Bryce Holmes' office and requested an appointment for both Natalie and me. After a brief pause, the receptionist said there was an opening at four o'clock that afternoon. I took it and thanked her.
"I've got an appointment with Bryce at four this afternoon," I announced as I returned to the kitchen. The children had left for school and Natalie was cleaning the kitchen counters after doing the breakfast dishes. She wasn't looking very bright that morning, a lack of sleep undoubtedly the cause.
"I don't want to go, Walter. I don't think there's anything wrong with me, despite what you say."
She had reverted to her previous persona, although not quite so confident.
"I don't think you understand," I said in my sternest voice. "You and I are going to see the doctor this afternoon. This is not a request or a suggestion. It ... will ... happen!"
Once again I saw the look of complete surprise come over her. It was out of character for me. I wasn't acting the way she had come to expect.
"I thought I made myself clear yesterday afternoon, Natalie. We have a problem and it needs to be dealt with. The doctor is expecting us and we will be there."
Again, I was giving her no maneuvering room. I was getting used to being in charge, and to tell the truth, I was rather enjoying it.
"All right," she said haltingly. It looked like she wanted to say more, but didn't. Perhaps it was the look on my face, or the tone of my voice. I was leaving her no doubt about my feelings.
"Come in, you two," Bryce Holmes smiled, welcoming us into his office.
Bryce Holmes had been our family doctor since we moved into our current house and Natalie had become pregnant with Robert. Good GPs were hard to come by, and we lucked out with Bryce. We both thought of him as a friend as well as our doctor.
"How can I help you today?" the good doctor smiled looking at us both.
"It's a difficult situation to explain, Bryce, but I'll try and give you the short version."
I went on to explain the deterioration of Natalie's attitude toward me as well as things in general. I gave him a few examples and suggested it was getting worse and threatened the well-being of our family. All the while, my wife had been looking everywhere but at the doctor. She seemed embarrassed, and once in a while I got the impression she wanted to dispute some of my assertions but didn't. I found that to be somewhat strange ... not what I expected.
Bryce sat back in his chair as I concluded my synopsis of what had been happening in our home. Both he and Natalie looked surprised when I had told them what our children had said to me about the mood in our home. But other than that, he didn't interrupt.
He looked at Natalie and asked, "Do you think Walter has been accurate in his description?"
Natalie didn't answer right away. She looked at me before looking back to the doctor. "I ... I think Walter believes it is accurate."
"And you?" he asked quickly as he saw me start to say something.
"I'm not sure, but ... no ... I don't think I'm like that."
I was about to interject when Bryce's hand went up to stop me as he concentrated on Natalie. "Why do you think Walter believes it is so?"
"I don't know. He's very angry with me right now. He's changed. He's not like he used to be ... always willing to do what I wanted him to."
Bryce sat back in his chair and made a tent of his hands in front of his mouth, obviously thinking. I saw his eyebrows rise as he put his hands on the desk and sat up straight.
"I'm going to suggest you both visit another doctor who's more familiar with this type of situation. I'm very reluctant to make a diagnosis because it's outside my expertise. Doctor DeVire is a clinical psychologist and I've come to rely on her for dealing with difficult behavioral problems. In the meantime, before you see her, I want you both to make an appointment for a complete physical. Let's make sure there isn't a medical problem."
I nodded, but I didn't see any acknowledgement from Natalie. We all rose, and Bryce asked his receptionist to make appointments for both of us. She did, and handed us each a card with the date and time of the physical. I made a note of Natalie's appointment. She wasn't going to opt out if I could help it.
"That was embarrassing," Natalie said finally as we drove home. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of loony."
"I did no such thing. I merely stated the facts as I see them. You're still in denial. You can't bring yourself to admit you are unhappy. I told you before, if I'm the one making you miserable, then say so. I'll leave," I snapped, leaving no room for doubt.
"I don't want any such thing. You're exaggerating this whole situation."
"Let's let Doctor DeVire decide that, shall we?" I said, closing off discussion for the moment.
"Did the children really say that about me?" she asked after a few minutes silence.
"Actually, your daughter used a quite vulgar word to describe you lately."
For the first time, I sensed I was getting through to her. She put her hands to her face and was sobbing lightly as we drove toward our home. By the time we had arrived, tears had stopped and we entered the house to find Rob and Karen at the kitchen table. We had left a note explaining the doctor's appointment and that dinner would be a little late that evening.
I looked up at the clock and saw it was almost six o'clock and made a snap decision.
"Rob, call Perfect Pizza and order two specials for delivery. Karen, would you make a tossed salad, please."
If I had any doubt about the wisdom of my decision it was erased by the high-fives my children gave each other and the look of relief on Natalie's face. It was my choice, and it had met with unanimous agreement.
This meal was a little livelier as Rob recounted his surprise at getting a very good mark on a math quiz, and Karen relayed the latest gossip about one of her girlfriends and her new boyfriend, who was categorized as a "dweeb." Natalie was quiet, but smiled and even chuckled at the children's stories.
My wife and I were tap-dancing around each other over the next week. We had both gone for our physicals with Doctor Holmes and were awaiting the results. When they came back with no negative indications, I made the appointment with Doctor DeVire for the following Tuesday and arranged with my office for a day off.
I was getting some flak from my boss about being away a couple of days, even though it was October and far from the mad rush that March and early April would produce. Once again, I was a victim of my own reticence about standing my ground. I was a long-serving well-respected employee. I'm probably the most knowledgeable of all the people in the office, but certainly one of the least recognized.
I had been passed over for promotion twice, and I knew exactly why. I seemed more valuable to the company in my present position and I didn't kick up a stink when I was passed over either time. I was beginning to think about alternatives for my fifteen years of service, and one of them was to go out on my own. I had clients that asked for me by name based on my past ability to look after them. I took pride in having the lowest incidence of audit in the firm, and my clients knew that. So did my employer.
But first, I needed to deal with my personal life. If my boss didn't like it, too bad. I had plenty of accumulated time-off that hadn't been used, so they could just squat if they didn't like me taking a few personal days to look after my family.
Our first visit with Doctor DeVire was a disaster. To begin with, the good doctor was primarily interested in Natalie's story rather than the reason for my concern in the first place. She had either pre-diagnosed my wife or hadn't been paying attention to Bryce's notes from our interview the previous week. I listened to this for about ten minutes before I interrupted.
"Doctor DeVire, I'm not sure you understand why we are here. My wife has been exhibiting signs of depression, or something else equally as disturbing. Her behavior has deteriorated in the past two years and I was the one to insist on her getting treatment. Am I making myself clear?"
"Do you have a PhD in psychology, Mr. McGuire?" she asked, a detectible sneer in her voice.
"No, I do not."
"Then kindly leave this process in my hands. I know full well why you think you are here, but I'm trying to determine if your assessment is accurate. There's no point in my trying to prescribe a method of treatment until I've satisfied myself that I understand what the problem is."
That shut me up. She was right of course, but I still didn't like how this was progressing. For the time being, I would remain quiet until I was convinced the doctor was getting at the cause of Natalie's problem, or had some other strategy in mind.
"Now, Mrs. McGuire, lets talk about your relationship with your family ... specifically with your children."
"What do you want to know?"
"Well ... let's start with how you manage the household. Your husband is away at work each day, so you have almost a half day that you are entirely in charge. Tell about a typical day."
Natalie went on to describe a normal weekday from getting up in the morning right through until I got home in the evening. I noticed her voice was quite mechanical; displaying no particular emotion.
"Does your husband help you with the children when he's home?"
"Not really. At their age, they're pretty self sufficient. He goes to the school events when he can. He helps with their homework if they ask him to."
"Do you help with their homework?"
"Sometimes. Most of their classes are on subjects I don't know much about. Biology, physics, algebra. It's been too long since I took those things in school, and I've never really used them since."
"Yes ... of course," the doctor paused. "How would you describe your relationship with your children?"
"Fine! We get along just fine. They're old enough to look after themselves for the most part. I just have to remind them once in a while if they forget to do something."
"Do your children hug or kiss you often?"
"I suppose so. I haven't really thought about it. I usually get a kiss on the cheek from my daughter when she leaves for school."
"Has that been happening lately?"
"I guess so. I haven't really noticed."
"And what about your husband? Does he hug or kiss you when he leaves for work or when he comes home."
Natalie looked at me and blinked, then back at the doctor. "I don't think so. Not for some time. I guess he hasn't felt like it lately," she said.
I almost rose out of my seat to protest when a quick hand-wave from the doctor told me to sit down and keep silent. Inside I was boiling. This whole line of questioning was surreal. Natalie made out that everything was just fine when I knew bloody well it wasn't. Worse, I wasn't being given the opportunity to dispute her opinions.
I sat listening to her questions and Natalie's answers for the remainder of the session. As I listened to the conversation, I began to think of what I could do to check up on this doctor. I couldn't understand why I was there if my input wasn't wanted. I decided to have a personal conversation with Bryce. I was hoping he could give me some insight on her without violating a confidence. It was worth a try.
Our trip back to the house was virtually silent that morning. Natalie had gradually opened up to the doctor, but I didn't hear any admission from her that she had been unhappy or frustrated with either her life in general or me in particular. It was almost surrealistic in content. It was as if both the children and I were imagining the whole scenario. My only hope was that the doctor was trying to get a handle on her view of things before she got around to my view.
When we got home, Natalie went about her normal routine, other than preparing a lunch for me as well as herself. She was either distracted or keeping her emotions hidden. I didn't detect that she was angry or frustrated. I didn't detect anything at all.
After lunch, I used my cell phone to call Doctor Holmes' office and left a message requesting he call me on my cell to discuss a personal matter. I didn't want Natalie to know I was checking up on Doctor DeVire.
I went back to work for the afternoon and found I had missed little if anything in my absence. As I sat at my desk, I began to think more seriously about starting my own practice, and to that end, I began to make a list of the clients who contacted me directly to handle their tax affairs. There would be no guarantee that they would all follow me to my business, but I felt at least two thirds of them might. That gave me at least a start on developing a budget.
Bryce phoned me just after eight that evening, and I moved to the workshop to talk to him. Natalie was busy in her room and I don't think she heard me take the call.
"Bryce, I need an opinion on Doctor DeVire. I know you think she is very good at what she does, but I was concerned about her point of view during our first session."
I began to describe the one-way conversation that excluded me and also her retort when I interrupted her to ask about the direction her session was taking.
"I realize it's improper for you to comment on another doctor, but I'm not comfortable with what took place today. I'm almost convinced she has an already formed opinion and isn't listening to my side of the story. Do I have options if I'm not satisfied with the way things are going?"
"Of course. You're not bound to use any doctor you're not happy or confident with. Is this going on your company medical insurance?"
"Yes. They accepted your referral."
"Okay, then contact your insurer and see who the alternative doctors in this area are. They always have several that are approved. If worse comes to worst, you can drop Doctor DeVire and chose another. I would suggest you give her a chance to develop her method before you do that. Perhaps she's just using an unorthodox procedure."
"Thanks, Bryce. I'll give it a bit of time, but I have to tell you, I'm uncomfortable with what I see and hear so far. I'm going to keep a tight rein on it. Thank you for your help."
I flipped the phone closed and leaned back against my work bench. I had to admit I was maybe jumping the gun on this doctor, but she was giving me a very uneasy feeling during that hour we spent with her. If I couldn't shake that feeling in the next one or two sessions, I would pull the pin on her and look for someone else. I didn't want to do that. It was hard enough to convince Natalie that this was necessary. Starting again would be even harder.
I hadn't said anything to Natalie yet about starting my own business. Since we weren't speaking to each other very civilly over the past two years, I kept my thinking to myself. The other factor was my lack of commitment to making a move. I wanted to. I thought I could, but ... it was easier to just leave things with the status quo. That was me ... think about it, but don't do anything.
My recent episodes with Natalie had given me a new outlook, and I was beginning to think I should take advantage of my new-found confidence.
I considered asking Natalie for her view on today's session, but changed my mind. I would wait for next week before voicing my opinion. If she wanted to talk about it, fine, but I would be careful to be non-committal. I didn't want to poison the well before I'd made a decision about Doctor DeVire.
The week passed and by the weekend I could see a distinct change in Natalie. She wasn't demanding, and she wasn't projecting a bad mood. However, I didn't get any sense that she was happy. She just ... was. Neither up nor down. It was disconcerting, but at least I took comfort in the fact that it wasn't the "old" Natalie.
"She's awful quiet," Karen said to me on the weekend. "She doesn't say much, but at least she's not pissed off all the time."
"What have I told you about your language, young lady?" I said sternly.
"Sorry ... but you know what I mean. It's kind of creepy the way she is now. I can't tell what she's going to say."
"Just give it some time, Karen. We've just started the counseling sessions, so it's too soon to expect results. I think your mother has had a real shock since this all happened. She's probably trying to figure out what's going on herself."
"I hope she gets better, Dad. I want my old Mom back," she said, tearing up.
I gave her a hug and told her to hang in there. I had to admit, I wasn't any more sure of what the future would bring than Karen was.
We were a little less tentative around each other on the weekend. Natalie still wasn't very talkative or demonstrative, but we did talk and didn't try to avoid being together. I did my usual weekend chores without any prompting from my wife. I would have anyway, but it was nice to just do them as I planned, when I planned.
All the while, I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't relaxed. I was tense and only the physical exertion of my chores brought temporary relief. I'm sure it was the uncertainty about what was to come with Natalie. Were we going to be able to save this marriage? I hoped so. I was betting on it.
I couldn't conceive of what I would do if we divorced and I couldn't have Karen and Rob with me every day. Divorce would be the very last resort. I would fight for our marriage with every ounce of energy I could assemble. I would not give up until the last chance was gone. I was not going to surrender. That was yesterday's Walter, not today's.
If I was upset with the tenor of the first session with Doctor DeVire, I was mystified by the second. It was almost a repeat of the first hour except the doctor spent the entire time questioning me. I found myself trying to second-guess the point of her questions. What was she trying to learn? Did she believe what I was telling her about my wife's behavior? I really couldn't tell. Some of the questions seemed irrelevant to our situation, but I answered them as directly as I could. I had nothing to hide, so there was no need to mask or distort my answers.
I did notice that the doctor was watching Natalie's reactions to my answers. I wasn't sure, but I thought she might be making notes about them, rather than my answers. At the end of the session, the doctor gave us her overview.
"I believe we will need to meet individually once every week. After several sessions, I will suggest we meet together to review where I think we are. I'm not a big believer in dragging this process on indefinitely, so I'll try and make my assessment as soon as I feel confident of my findings."
I felt a little more positive than I had a week earlier, and decided to continue with Doctor DeVire.
"Do you think these visits are doing any good?" Natalie asked as we drove home.
"To be honest, I can't tell. I'm not sure what her method is. I didn't understand the reason for some of the questions, but I gave her honest answers. Maybe our next session will tell us more."
"Are you still angry with me?"
It was a question I didn't expect. "No ... no ... not angry. Maybe I was a month ago ... even a couple of weeks ago, but not now. I'm just hoping and praying that this doctor can get to the bottom of whatever is bothering you. I want to know why you are unhappy. Once we know that, maybe we can make some progress."
I expected her to argue that she wasn't unhappy at all, but that didn't happen. Maybe she was beginning to understand and believe what I was telling her. Our morning session with Doctor DeVire was at least somewhat more on-point. The rest of the ride home was in silence.