the kids to overhear, so he held his hand out toward his office. “Let’s step in here and talk about this.”
Amy walked in ahead of him, paced back and forth in front of his desk, then turned to him. “He’s planning to leave me. I know he is.”
“Did he say so?”
“No. But since the weekend you took the kids to breakfast, we’ve barely spoken. He spends even more time at the office. He walks in the house, looks around, then just . . . I don’t know, goes quiet.”
“It sounds like you need to talk to Rex about this.”
“I need you to tell me what happens if he wants a divorce. Will I get the kids? The courts side with the mother, right?” She paced away, then spun back around. “He can’t take my kids.”
Mason had never seen Amy this out of sorts and agitated. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what is really going on between you and Rex?”
She fell into the chair and folded her arms across her chest, defensive and angry. “I do everything for him. I cook. I clean. I do all the shopping. The man hasn’t bought a single article of clothing for himself in years. I take care of the kids. Is that enough for him? No.”
“Is that what he said?”
In his practice, he’d learned that often people perceived the other person thought something they’d never said. They put words in the other person’s mouth without ever really talking to them or asking how they really felt. Communication was the one thing people forgot to do when things fell apart. So many of his clients would still be together if they’d simply stopped assuming they knew what the other thought and started talking about it. And listened.
People didn’t really know how to listen anymore. They made everything about them. They wanted to be heard.
“He wants me to change the way I do things. He wants me to change my whole life. Like I’m the only one who has to change to make this work.”
“What exactly does he want you to change?”
She sat up and shouted, “Everything!” She fell back into a pout and folded her arms.
Mason took a breath and tried again, making this about Amy, not Rex. “What do you want to do?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. It took her a second to finally respond. “I don’t know.” She dropped her gaze to the floor, then looked back at him. “That’s just it. I’m stuck. I created the life I wanted, but . . .”
“Now it’s not working,” he guessed.
“Yes. And no.” She unfolded her arms and sat up. “I know something has to change, but it’s just so much. What if it’s not enough?” She went quiet, silently winding herself up again with the thoughts running through her head and making her eyes narrow. “I’m taking the kids. He can see them every other weekend. That’s it.”
Mason sighed. “Is that what you really want?”
“I want him to realize that my life isn’t that easy. I don’t sit around all day watching TV and eating ice cream. It takes skill to organize two kids, school, their activities, playdates, homework, managing the house, and getting dinner on the table. I’d like to see him do the grocery shopping. He’d never know what to buy organic and what kind of toilet paper we use. He doesn’t have to think about the dozens of things I have on my plate, the decisions I have to make for our home and family. No. He just comes home, enjoys a home-cooked meal, plays with the kids and puts them to bed. You’d think that’s the end of my day. You’d be wrong. I’ve still got to make lunches for the next day, make sure their homework is in their backpacks and not left on the table, put their instruments or sports gear together and by the door so we don’t forget it, then clean up the dinner dishes and make sure the house is put to rights before I finally get to go to bed. I’m lucky if I get to watch a whole episode of . . . anything.”
“Have you asked Rex to help with any of that stuff?”
“He doesn’t know how to do it or doesn’t do it right and I have to fix it. I might as well do it myself.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know how to wash the dishes?”
She rolled her eyes. “He loads the dishwasher completely