When my wife’s massage therapist called me and said I needed to attend her next appointment, I assumed something had gone wrong with her treatment. Three days later, I found myself hiding behind a folding screen, listening to a conversation I was never supposed to hear.
For 14 years, my wife had been the calmest person in our family. When our daughter Ellie broke her arm falling off a bicycle, Lina was the one who stayed calm while I panicked.
When I got laid off during a company restructuring, she spent three straight nights helping me update my resume instead of worrying about our savings. Even when life threw surprises at us, she always seemed to know exactly what to do.
So when her massage therapist called me out of the blue on a Tuesday afternoon, I assumed something terrible had happened. My mind immediately went to a car accident, a fall, or some kind of medical emergency.
People don’t get calls from their spouse’s massage therapist unless something has gone wrong.
“It’s not something I can explain over the phone.”
My grip tightened around the steering wheel. “Is Lina okay?”
“Physically, yes.”
The answer should have reassured me. Instead, it made my stomach drop. Physically? What kind of answer was that? If she wasn’t injured, then what exactly was he trying to tell me?
“What are you talking about?”
Another silence. Then he said the words that would haunt me for the next three days.
“I think you should come to her next appointment.”
“What?”
“If I were you, I’d want to hear it myself.”
Before I could ask another question, he hung up.
The rest of that day felt wrong. The next day felt worse. By the third day, I was convinced I was losing my mind.
