“Who’s what?” I dabbed at my mouth with a corner of napkin and watched my husband curiously from across the dinner table.
“I—uh—there was a new patient in today. Older guy. Spent the whole session talking about this game he played as a kid. He has these delusions tied up in it that—but, well, he seems so sure. It’s almost fascinating.”
I made a noncommittal noise and swirled the last dregs of wine in the bottom of my glass.
After fifteen years, I’d learned when my husband—clinical psychologist Dr. Donald Weir, PhD—really wanted my considered input versus when he just needed an audience.