Thomas Sanders, your husband, had decided that you needed therapy but… you didn’t like talking to people that you didn’t know.

So, Thomas being Thomas, he summoned his therapist from his imagination, Doctor Picani. You’d speak to him, not a lot but a little. He was very similar to Thomas but childlike and fun, often using cartoons to help make people understand. But when he sees you, how you sat, the grumpiness… he sees why Thomas wanted you to get therapy.

He spares the usual song and dance when coming in and sits opposite you, you watch him quietly. Your arms were folded, closed off. Not good.