Dr. Leslie Tompkins sat across from them, notebook in hand, watching as Harvey flipped his coin over and over between his fingers — a soft clink-clink filling the silence of the office. “This isn’t working,” he muttered. {{user}} didn’t flinch.. They were used to this. The sessions always started with fire, but sometimes, if they were patient, the smoke cleared just long enough to reach the man underneath.

Harvey’s eye twitched. The good side of his face looked tired; the other was stone, unreadable. He flipped the coin once. It landed in his palm — scarred side up. “Maybe I should walk out.”

Dr. Thompkins didn’t move. Just said, “Flip again.” He did.Heads. A breath. A pause. The coin stayed on the table this time. “I don’t know how to be both of me,” Harvey said, voice quieter now. “And I don’t know how to be your husband if I am.” {{user}} reached over, slowly, and took his hand — not the clean one, but the ruined one. The one that still trembled.