"Say you want to sleep with another man's wife, but you're afraid her husband might come home and catch you. What do you do?"
Someone answered:
"Easy. Have the woman park her car in her husband's spot. That way, when he comes home and needs the space moved, he'll call her first, and she'll have a heads-up..."
I used to torment myself with regret. Why didn't I just call Gretchen and ask her to come downstairs?
Why did I have to go up alone?
Why, when I heard the sounds coming from inside the apartment, did I have to push open that door?
If I hadn't done any of those things, could I have gone on living in blissful ignorance forever?
Would my brother and my wife still be alive, instead of killing themselves out of guilt?
Would my parents not hate me so much?
But there are no do-overs.
The moment I pushed the door open, I saw my wife's betrayal and my brother's treachery laid bare.
I broke down sobbing, lunging at Rex to slap him across the face.
Gretchen shoved me away.
She stood in front of Rex, shielding him, her eyes fixed on me with a wary, guarded look:
"If you want to blame someone, blame me. This has nothing to do with Rex. I fell in love with him while treating him. I'm the one without professional ethics. I'm the one who couldn't control my own heart."
Even my parents, who had rushed over after getting the call, sided with him. They said, voices stiff with disapproval:
"Enough. You've already made a scene. What more do you want? Are you going to force your brother to get on his knees and apologize?"
"Your brother has depression. He's finally found someone he cares about, someone who gives him a reason to live. Can't you just be generous for once and let him have this?"
I screamed and cried like a madman, pouring out every injustice I'd ever swallowed:
"Why do you keep doing this to me?! All these years, just because Rex has depression, because he can't handle the slightest upset, I've been forced to give in over and over and over again!"
"He was fragile! He was in a bad mood! So from the time I was a kid, you wouldn't let me go out and play! Wouldn't let me have friends! Wouldn't let me do anything fun! I had to stay by his side! But then you'd turn around and take HIM on vacations, and call it 'treatment'!"
"He was too sick to study for the SATs. So you wouldn't let ME go to college! But then you sent HIM to study abroad!"
"I finally married someone I loved and had a home of my own! And you forced him to move in with us! Because Gretchen was a psychologist, you said, and having her care for him around the clock might cure him!"
"You were so afraid he'd hurt himself that you made me agree to let Gretchen stay by his side twenty-four hours a day!"
"And now? Because he 'can't handle stress,' he gets to steal my wife, and I'm supposed to forgive him?!"
"On what grounds?! Tell me on what grounds!"
I was gasping between sobs when I turned to Gretchen.
She used to stand by me without hesitation.
Whenever Rex pulled his usual act, playing the pitiful depressive for sympathy,
she would cut through it without a shred of courtesy:
"Mr. Swanson, don't bother putting on a show for me. I'm a psychologist. I am absolutely certain you don't have depression. This is just the tool you use to bully my husband."
"Don't think you can keep using this to hurt him. I'm going to expose you for what you really are, and I'm going to make your parents see just how badly they've treated Maxwell because of you."
"Everything you owe my husband, I will get back for him."
But now, watching her gaze at Rex with tender, protective eyes,
my heart shattered into dust.
I grabbed at her sleeve, grief clawing through every word as I asked her again and again:
"You said it didn't matter who else he fooled, he'd never fool you. You said you'd protect me forever! That you'd never let anyone wrong me again! Gretchen, how could you forget what you promised me? How could you take his side too?!"
