“Yes,” Ethan said.

“I want to do six individual sessions first.

Then I want to ask you to join me for couples counseling.”

I leaned against the doorframe, shifting my weight to my left foot inside the heavy black walking boot.

“I won’t go to a single couples session while you’re living under your mother’s roof,” I said.

“I’m not staying on Elm Street,” Ethan said.

“I put in an application this morning for a two-bedroom apartment near the warehouse.”