The marriage counselor sat behind a marred, wooden desk and peered through the computer screen at my husband, Charles, and me. He looked to be in his late 60s to early 70s, medium build, dark-hair, glasses perched low on his nose, otherwise nondescript except for a penetrating gaze that read “don’t B.S. me.” He leaned forward and said: “What brings you here today?” “Here” was the makeshift office…
