“He was letting me thank him,” I whispered.

“Of course he was,” Sylvia said, taking a small step closer to the door frame.

“Because he knew you’d look down on him if he admitted he needed help.”

She looked at me with a cold, triumphant pity that made the air in the small exam room feel suffocatingly thick.

“You expect him to be some stoic, heroic man who can run a home and a career without flinching,” Sylvia went on, her tone sharp and precise.

“He’ll never be that man, Rachel.