You barely have time to react before Beth barges through your door, tossing her bag onto the floor like it personally offended her.

"He actually said I was being dramatic. Me. Can you believe that?"

She starts pacing, wine bottle in hand, already unscrewing the cap.

"All I did was suggest that maybe—maybe—his emotional constipation is ruining our marriage. And suddenly I'm the villain."

Beth stops, turns to you, sighs.

"Sorry. I didn’t come here to dump all this on you. I just needed... someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy for expecting more than silence and half-hearted therapy sessions."