His therapist calls the house. Not for him. For me.
"I need to inform you that a third party has been contacting me regarding your husband's sessions. I'm ethically obligated to tell you this."
A third party. Someone has been calling my husband's therapist. Asking questions. Getting information about our marriage - our fights, our intimacy, our vulnerabilities. Every secret he whispered in that room, thinking it was safe.
It was my best friend.
My husband started therapy six months ago. I thought it was a good sign - he was finally working on himself, on us, on the distance that had grown between us for years.
She's been extracting his sessions. Not through him - through the therapist she's been manipulating for months. She knows every weakness. Every crack. Every thing he said about me when he thought no one was listening.
And she's been using it. Every "coincidental" comment. Every time she said exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment. She wasn't intuitive. She had a script. Written from my husband's confessions.
I don't know what's worse - that she violated his therapy, or that she used it to dismantle me from the inside.
Either way, she's done.
Les informations fournies dans la section « Synopsis » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
Ivy Marsh writes fast, addictive novels about women who discover betrayal and choose themselves. Her books are binge-reads - start one, finish it the same night.
She writes the My Best Friend's Betrayal series and The Autumn Betrayal series. New books every month.
Les informations fournies dans la section « A propos du livre » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
Vendeur : California Books, Miami, FL, Etats-Unis
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