A/N: So help me, I really don't know why my brain wanted to hold onto and tell a story like this, but I am very grateful to all of you who have come back and stuck with me. Marriage counseling is a very difficult process to go through, having been there myself many many years ago (obviously not successfully, but through no fault of the counselor), and I'm sure it's not a lot of fun to read about, either. So I'm even more thankful.

Edward is a tough nut to crack, quite stubborn, as I was. And I know he's quite frustrating, but I am digging out the chisel on him, I promise! If I don't, I think ericastwilight might throttle me or something lol. So I totally understand if some of you are ready to as well.

Thanks again, and take care.

Chapter 3 ~ Two Steps Back

One week later, we are seated back on that couch.

"I'm glad to see you've decided to return, Edward," Juan greets us as he sits down across from us again. "Considering how you felt after last time, I wasn't sure."

My gaze shifts to Bella again, and I narrow my eyes slightly. "You told him?"

"Edward, she didn't say anything. You aren't the first husband to storm out of here as you did last week, especially when the topic of sex is broached. Several wives have, as well. Many feel just as you do, that sex is a private matter in a marriage," he replies, and my body tenses even more. "There have even been some that have not returned. This is a positive step. I can't promise that sex will never be a subject of discussion again here, because it will. It is an integral part of a marriage, and obviously important to you both. Bella in her desire to mend it, and you in your protectiveness of it. I understand that it's very intimate and personal, and we will take this one step at a time."

I lower my head and nod, attempting to dispel the discomfort I feel at the topic, but also feeling guilt swarm over me at my assumption and accusatory tone toward my wife. "I'm sorry, Bella."

"So how did the rest of your week go?" Juan asks in a tone way too calm and pleasant, and it sets my nerves on edge, but I know I am just overreacting.

Bella glances over to me, gesturing with her hand for me to go first.

I sigh, folding my arms over my chest. "To be honest, yes, I was really pissed off after the last session, and we fought when we got home. I'm not an idiot, I know things will get…personal in here. But I have never discussed my marriage or what I do with my wife in the bedroom with anyone, not even friends. And I haven't been married for seven years just to start acting like some lovesick teenager again. There was a lot said to that effect."

"And Bella, how did you feel about that?" Juan asks, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes at the nearly textbook line of questioning I can foresee from here.

"I got angry, too," Bella answers, and then her voice dips a little more and she shrugs. "And it hurt. We agreed that we would be open and honest here, no matter the topic. It was kinda the whole point of counseling, because we weren't talking anymore, and I started getting discouraged. Sometimes, I want him to be that 'lovesick teenager' over me. I know it's not realistic all the time, but I miss him kissing me for no reason. Or wanting me so much that he can't keep his hands off me. Or hell, even taking my hand in public because he saw some guy looking at me and letting him know 'she's mine'."

"And she told you this?" Juan asks, now turning his attention to me.

I nod and look down as he inquires about my reaction. "It made me angrier, and I refused to talk about it anymore. She hated that kind of stuff when we were dating. She'd always tell me that she wasn't a damn possession."

"When it's all the time, sure. But once in a while, it's nice to know that your husband thinks you've still got something for other men to stare at," Bella says, glancing over at me for a moment with a look in her eyes I can't remember ever seeing before—but it was definitely sad.

"Just because I don't beat you over the head with a club and drag you back to the cave doesn't mean I don't still find you attractive," I reply, dragging my fingers through my hair and gripping it at the back of my head. "You're fucking gorgeous, Bella."

"So, what made you decide to come back?" Juan asks curiously, bringing our attention back to him.

I take a deep breath and run my palms along my thighs. "I love my wife, I really do. And she was right, we really don't talk anymore. I didn't realize how true that was until that moment last week. I completely shut down from her. I just have a lot of trouble saying what I feel at times. I wasn't raised to be overly forthcoming, especially with the intimate details of my life. Everything is very private in my family."

"I'm not your parents or your brother, Edward. I don't want you to hide things from me," Bella says gently, without a single trace of anger. Her voice is soft, and her eyes have saddened more.

"Edward, do you think you can look at Bella and tell her how you're feeling right now?" Juan asks, crossing one leg over the other. "No one is here to judge you, and you can say anything you wish. Imagine I'm not here, if you need to."

I tense, gripping my knees firmly and my throat tightens, and I see her turn toward me from the corner of my eye. "I love you, Bella."

"Will you look at me? Please?" Bella asks in a gentle but desperate tone, and I swallow hard, turning my head toward her. "Why are you so afraid to talk to me unless we're screaming our heads off at each other or I'm about to leave you because I just can't bear it anymore? We are family, too, Edward. You and me. I want you to trust me."

"I do trust you," I reply with a furrowed brow.

"Enough to know that I would never cheat on you, maybe. And yeah, we've talked this week, but it's like pulling teeth to get you to open up to me, even just to tell me how your day was," Bella says, her hand clapping against her denim clad thigh in frustration. "That's not the only kind of trust I want between us."

"Okay, Bella? Take a moment and a deep breath," Juan interjects, holding his hand up to stop her. "And then calmly tell Edward how you are feeling right now."

Bella blinks back her tears and inhales slowly, closing her eyes as she releases her breath and then looks to me again. "I know you love me, and I love you more than I could ever explain in this lifetime. I never want to lose you, but I feel that, in a lot of ways, I already have. I miss my husband, I miss my lover, I miss my friend. And I want to believe that the man I married, who encompassed all those things, is still in there somewhere and I'm not as alone as I feel sometimes."

"Bella, I told you, I'm still the same man," I reply, resting my elbow on the back of the couch and pressing my fingertips to my forehead. "You didn't trust me enough to tell me how much you hated your job and that you felt it was my fault that you were still there. Or that our marriage was in so much trouble that you were ready to file for a divorce."

"You were sleeping on the couch, Edward!" Bella exclaimed, her hand fisting on her thigh. "What part of not sharing the same bed with your wife for three months did you construe as being normal?"

My hand runs over my face while Juan intercedes, attempting to diffuse the situation between us. We are pointing fingers again, without realizing we're doing it, or even intending to. I look to my wife and take a deep breath, fighting against everything that has been hammered into me from the moment I was born. "In my family, we don't talk about our feelings, it's an admittance of weakness. We are private, we do not show pain or fear, and we definitely do not cry. You don't understand, Bella, I've opened up to you more than any single person in my entire life. I've never begged for anything before, ever. I'm my father's son, and I'm the oldest. And there's nothing I have ever wanted to be less."

Bella stares at me in shocked disbelief, completely speechless and barely even appearing to breathe. I've shielded her from everyone in my family but my brother, and never discussed with her at length about my parents. All she knew was that my father was strict and that we didn't get along.

After a few moments of silence, Juan leans forward and folds his hands in front of him. "Go ahead, Edward. Nothing is forbidden to speak of in here or leaves this room, except with you and Bella."

I feel about five years old all over again, terrified to speak. Bella seems to sense this and slides closer to me, gently taking my hand. Her thumb ghosts along my skin, and I freeze, shaking my head as I feel bile rising in my throat. My chest tightens, and I'm having difficulty breathing, my guard instinctively going up. "I can't. I'm sorry, I can't."

"Edward, please," Bella begs me, but I pull my hand away from her hold and stand.

"Bella, don't you understand? I can't!" I exclaim, and she jumps at the ferocity and volume of my voice. "If that means that you need to leave me, then I guess I will have no choice but to let you go."

"Edward! Baby, please come back," I hear Bella cry out from behind me as I leave the office, thankful that we met here today since I was running late after work. I can't meet her eyes as she pushes the office door open roughly, but I am already in my car, backing out and speeding out of the parking lot.

I need time. To clear my head and dispel the near panic attack beginning to course through me, with my father's words screaming at me in my mind as I drive.

You're being weak, Edward. You're allowing your emotions to dictate you. Look where that got your brother. That woman walks all over him, and those children are the most unruly, disrespectful brats I have ever encountered in my life. And you're becoming a disappointment, just like him. Bella is not your friend, she is your wife, and she needs to know her place.

And this is exactly why I haven't spoken to my father outside the office in years, and have shielded Bella from him. Yet, as much as I was determined to avoid it, I have become just like him. I can't say when my main priority in life has stopped being my wife, and I became married to my work. A job I'd gone to college for a business degree for, though it was the last thing I wanted, all because it was in my father's plan. Or when I began treating her the same way he treats my mother. I've destroyed the most incredible thing to happen to me, because I no longer view her as my friend—and she's the best one I've ever had.

And "brats"—that is how my father refers to his grandchildren.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking me out of my thoughts, and I pull over to the side of the road. I cut the engine and lean back in my seat, knowing it's Bella, but I can't bring myself to answer the call, and I let it go to voicemail. It's a dickish move; I'm sure she's probably worried about me, because that is just how my wife is. Even when we are screaming and pissed at each other, she never loses her concern for me. I just can't let her hear me like this.

I finally reach into my pants pocket to retrieve my phone when it vibrates again, and I look to it and see a text from her.

It's been three hours. If you don't want to come home right now, that's fine. Just please let me know you're okay.

I rest my elbow on the window ledge, my fingertips running along my lips with my phone held tight in the other hand on my lap. I don't deserve her, and as much as I love her, I probably should never have married her. Because she doesn't deserve this. She should be married to a man who would appreciate everything she does and give her the life and all the babies she could ever want. A true partner in life.

I lift my phone to stare at her message again—I can't let her sit at home, worrying about my sorry ass.

I'm fine. Be home soon.

Once I send the text, I lean my head back again and slam my palm against the steering wheel in frustration. I'm not angry with her, but I'm furious with myself. Why is she paying the price for my issues? This is not at all the husband I wanted to be for her when I asked her to marry me and put that ring on her finger. I can see her in my mind, pacing the living room floor and praying that I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere, and crying in relief when she receives my short text.

What an asshole I am.

I start my car again and turn around. It is now pitch dark outside, and I'm out in the middle of nowhere, already halfway to Seattle. It will be at least an hour or two before I am back in my driveway, unless I drive like a maniac—which I am half tempted to do. And even though I know she'll probably still be waiting up for me when I return, I decide to take my time in order to collect my thoughts.

Part of me knows that I should let her go, let her file for divorce and move on with her life. Even though that thought causes such an unbearable ache inside me that it materializes into a crippling, physical pain and I can barely breathe. I love her too much for her own good.