The last Divorce Recovery class wraps up, and Jeff throws out the idea of a group hangout—something light to end on, he says. Cody, our facilitator, backs him up, assuring everyone that Jeff is trustworthy.

But is he? I can’t help but replay the way he approached me earlier in the season while I was talking to Cody. Jeff strode over, grinning as if we shared a secret. “You know what? My wife is also petite. And guess what her profession is?”

I shrugged, wary, not sure what he was getting at.

“She’s a nurse,” he announced, like he’d landed on some cosmic fluke.
My mind raced. Is he trying to connect or just playing at something?

“What a coincidence,” I said, forcing a polite smile.

He chuckled. “I used to mentor people on keeping their marriages strong. Now I’m the one showing up for help, right next to someone I once coached.” He nodded toward Cody, amused at his own irony.

The exchange felt off. I just stared up at him, his tall, husky frame blocking the ceiling light, and finally said, “That’s really ironic. God has a sense of humor.”

He cracked up, then leaned down and hugged me. “You’re so nice. I appreciate you and all the wisdom you bring to the group.”

But I couldn’t shake it. His wife’s accusations—controlling, emotionally abusive, narcissist—echoed in my mind. He admitted this in earlier sessions. And yet, I remember telling him, “I don’t think so.” If he was questioning himself, going to therapy, maybe he wasn’t a narcissist after all. He’d seemed grateful, smiling.

Later, though, it hit me—I’d let him off too easily. Controlling? Absolutely. Emotionally abusive? I’m not sure anymore. Doubt clung to me, gnawing at the edges of my certainty.

At another session, Jeff suggested that we all switch seats. I played along, only to find him right next to me, tension twisting quietly in my stomach. The following week, I sat by Brad—quiet and steady—but Jeff still ended up beside me. Was he doing this on purpose? Across the table, empty chairs waited where he usually sat.

In that session, Jeff complained about his wife getting half of his retirement. “She gets half and what… I get no sex,” he griped.

Silence fell. Did he really just say that? In my head, I pushed back: Just because you provide doesn’t mean your wife owes you anything. Sex isn’t compensation for a paycheck.

What an entitled ass. My hesitation about sharing my number with him deepens.

Jeff hands out his number anyway, waiting as the rest of us text ours or promise we would. Donna, the older woman, fumbles with her phone, muttering, “Whatever, I don’t know how to deal with these things,” and leaves Jeff awkwardly hanging.

I can’t help but laugh, suggesting he ask Cody for her number if she agreed. Jeff thanks me for my soft-spoken approach, saying again, how much he listens when I speak.

Those words—again. He’d said it all season: “When you speak, Lena, I listen.” And it feels good to be heard, to know someone is paying attention.

Maybe Jeff isn’t so pretentious. Maybe he means it. But then I remember how quick he was to judge Amy, how he dismissed her as a “hot mess” and insisted he could never learn from her. I told him everyone had something to teach us, that people have layers, and that it takes time to understand their stories.

He grinned, repeating how much he valued my insight, how he listened when I spoke.

No man had ever said that to me—not like this, not so often.
Reginald said nothing of the sort. With him, it was always, “Alright! I heard you,” or “Elena, didn’t I say I’d get to it?”

My chest tightens, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes as Reg’s old complaints echo in my mind.

Right now, all I can do is breathe.

This post is part of a fictionalized memoir. The emotional experiences and themes are drawn from my life, but all names, identities, timelines, and circumstances have been altered, obscured, or combined to protect privacy — including my own. These writings are not meant to diagnose, label, or describe any real person. Instead, they illuminate relational patterns that can occur in emotionally imbalanced or narcissistic dynamics. Any resemblance to actual individuals is coincidental or intentionally obscured. The intention is healing and awareness, not identification. These posts are for storytelling purposes only and do not constitute professional advice.