Love or maybe not

We entered the building, our hands held apart. The journey here had been long and silent, filled with frustration and exasperation. He had suggested this place, but I saw no reason for me to be here. It felt like a complete waste of time, and my anger simmered beneath the surface.

As we stepped inside, we were greeted by a cheeky front desk person. Her smile was warm, but given my current state of mind, I had no intention of being diplomatic. The counter displayed the company logo, along with a phone, pamphlet, and computer. She wore vibrant makeup, with red lip gloss and yellow smoky eye shadow, though bright colors were not to my liking lately.

Her wide smile, accentuated by a gap between her teeth, sparked my curiosity. I wondered what made her so cheerful. She smiled even more when Michael inquired about our appointment, checking her computer to confirm the details. In my presence, she dared not flirt with him. I glared at her, leaning on the counter. But my thoughts were interrupted when she directed us to the office.

"The doctor's office is on the left side," she pointed out.

"Okay, thank you," Michael replied, his voice unusually calm.

Michael opened the door, and I followed him inside. The office was painted in shades of gray and white. I stood in the doorway, taking in the surroundings. There was a bookshelf behind the door and a window blind. My eyes were drawn to a frame, displaying the words, "Today is going to be a good day."

We were greeted by a blond-haired woman in her early thirties. She stood beside a desk, engrossed in some files. She was around 5'6" tall, dressed in a loose top, fitted trousers, and covered shoes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. Thankfully, she wasn't of the opposite gender; maybe she would understand me without me having to explain.

She appeared attractive and sophisticated, curious if her transparent glasses were prescribed or bought simply just to look astute I couldn't fathom why Michael had chosen her to be our therapist. There was something about her, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It wasn't that I fancied her.

She turned towards us and greeted us with a smile, gesturing for us to sit on a sofa. She took a seat on a pink armchair opposite us. Behind her, there was a printer, a plant, and a picture frame on a table by the window.

"Hi, my name is Angela. Can you please introduce yourselves to me?" she said, smiling briefly.

"My name is Michael Macaulay, and this is my wife, Bridget," Michael replied, while I simply looked around the room.

"How long have you guys been married?" Angela inquired.

"We've been married for over 5 years now," I answered, crossing my legs.