I would hate for you to be sitting here lost, confused, and wondering how in the fuck we got here.

Go catch up, then come back, because this… yeah, it is a lot.

Dr. Samirah Rowe

Complicated.

Something that is difficult, hard, or exhausting to deal with or explain because there are too many emotions or moving parts to simplify it.

That is me. My name is Dr. Samirah Rowe, and I am a fixer. I fix people, situations, and outcomes. I take on the good, the bad, and the ugly, and try to make sense of it all. On paper, I am an accomplished therapist licensed to counsel individuals, couples, and families. My clients include divorced people, trauma victims, individuals with suicidal ideations, and the list goes on. The job that I’ve thrown myself into keeps me occupied and fulfilled. On the surface, I am a polished, no-nonsense professional who has her shit together and is willing to help others find their way to stability and happiness. In reality, I am a 39-year-old woman who throws herself into work to avoid the shit I am not ready to talk about. Like the fact that my mother is a raging lunatic who has never liked me and made it her life’s mission to compete with me. I have a brother who is an emotional tyrant who uses his disability to get his way. And let’s not talk about the father who abandoned us to be with a woman with four kids that he loves and adores as if they were his own. Or the fact that I have been fucking a 46-year-old man who is married and one of my patients.

BEFORE YOU JUDGE ME, HEAR ME OUT!

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Wife. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Chef. Caretaker. Doctor. Accountant. Manager. Lover. Secretary. Slut.

Titles. All these fucking titles! I wore many hats as a woman. I was tired of being everything for everybody. Russell called while on vacation with the kids and gave me an ultimatum: come home or get divorced. Well, I tell you damn what, I’m ‘bout to show him how a bitch come down the slide! How dare he say that to me? I never wanted to get a divorce, all I wanted was a little time to figure this out. We only did a few therapy sessions with Dr. Rowe, and he was done. What happened to doing the work? What happened to compromise? He did none of it. Russell got fed up and peaced me out. Well, you know what? Fuck it. Just fuck it. I hopped up, grabbed my shopping bags, and headed to the parking garage of the mall.

I walked with so much force I damn near stomped a hole in the ground. Making a beeline through the double doors. I hit the panic button on the key fob to locate my Bentley Bentayga. The truck’s horn sounds were coming from my left, and I continued to walk in that direction. When I reached the truck, I popped the locks and flung my bags in the back seat. Slamming the door after hopping into the driver’s seat, I broke down.

This was it, this was the end, and Russell didn’t care. Starting my truck, I waited for the dashboard to light up, then punched the phone app and immediately dialed my therapist, Dr. Rowe’s cell. She gave it to me in case of an emergency. The phone rang three times before she answered, “Hi Na’imah, I’m at lunch with a colleague, can I….” and I broke down. I mean, I broke down like Fantasia on stage after she sang a Gospel song. Tears flowing, snot rolling, vision blurry, and heat radiating from my body.

“HE WANTS A DIVORCE! HE’S ABOUT TO LEAVE ME! YOU SAID THIS WOULD WORK!”

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This story explores the weight of marriage, the quiet breaking point of a man who feels unseen, and the moment when love starts to feel unappreciated. It touches on sacrifice, emotional distance, and what happens when a husband begins to question whether staying is really worth it.

“Daddy, I don’t like this Mexico. Where is mommy?” Kennedy whined as the ice cream melted in her little hands.

One thing I couldn’t stand was for my baby girl to be sad and on the verge of tears. Fuck man.

“Hey, Ken Ken, mommy is back home getting some alone time in, and she wanted me to take you all on a trip. You not having fun?”

Kennedy huffed before nearly shouting, “NO!”

The people around us heard her little hissy fit and looked over at us. They had better not start staring and asking questions with that fake ass concern. A nigga was already frustrated and down bad. Na’imah had some damn nerve moving into a damn penthouse and demanding she needed more space to “think some things over”…whatever the fuck that meant.

Now here I was in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, with our two youngest, Kennedy and Kanan, along with our nanny, Penelope. What was supposed to be a family vacation turned into me cosplaying a single dad trying to wrangle in two kids. My kids are normally well-behaved, but the absence of their mother had them showing their entire ass. Typically, Na’imah was the one who was good at getting our lil’ thug rats together. My kids knew not to play with her. But when it came to me, them lil’ muhfuckas tested me in every way possible. Shit, I miss my wife.

“Ken Ken finish up your ice cream so we can go to the beach and play in the water, ok?”

Kennedy looked at me with a frown and then went into a full-blown meltdown. The first wail that came out had Penelope jumping to her feet and picking Kennedy up to dash to the restroom. Today was going to be a long-ass day. Kennedy didn’t do well with change, and she was a mama’s girl through and through. My baby loved me, but it was Na’imah whom she wanted to be around the most. And I get it, hell, I wanted to be near Na’imah too, especially now.

“Daddy, what did you do for mommy to leave us? Can you just say sorry so she can come back home?” Kanan asked.

I took a deep breath and focused on my baby boy, who looked like he was beyond sad. Grabbing his hand, I pulled him from his seat and sat him on my lap.

“Hey, son, I didn’t do anything to make mommy mad. She just needs a little time to herself because she feels overwhelmed. You know how you feel when you need some time away from Kennedy to just be alone?” Kanan shook his head yes.

“That’s all mommy needs is a breather to do some stuff she wants to do alone. Once she’s finished, she’ll be back with us, making cookies and all that other stuff y’all like to do together.’’ Kanan let one tear drop and sniffled.

“I miss her daddy. She is supposed to be here with us. Can we call her?”

Now my ass was sad and ready to cry.

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This story contains themes related to marriage, motherhood, personal sacrifice, and the emotional complexities of life.

“Tell us what you’re feeling, Na’imah. Why did you leave your house? Your kids? Your husband?” Dr. Rowe said while unlocking her iPad.

“I felt trapped. I’ve been feeling trapped. I have been with the same man since I was 16. Left home at 16. Became a mother at 17. Has my husband treated me like a queen, providing everything I have ever wanted and needed? Yes. But I feel trapped and robbed,” Na’imah stated while sniffling, trying her best to maintain an even tone in her voice.

“Robbed how Na’imah?” Dr. Rowe asked.

“I feel robbed because I had a very bright future ahead of me. I was valedictorian of my class, headed to college to do great things, and then, after graduation, I went to New York for a summer program, met Russell, fell in love, and got pregnant. We had options to terminate the baby, but he insisted that I keep Jahmir and…”

Russell jumped up from the couch and lost his shit.

“Hold the fuck up, Na’imah!” he boomed. Russell was a tall, handsome man with a very commanding presence. At 40 years old, he was still a sight for sore eyes. I could understand why the secretary was fawning over him.

“Russell let her finish, please.” Dr. Rowe insisted while giving him that look that only a Black woman can give when you know you’ve fucked up.

Na’imah continued, “All I’m saying is had I decided to abort my baby and went back home to New Orleans after the summer program was over, things may have looked different for me. I feel like I was trapped with a baby and robbed of my future.”

“Russell, do you hear what your wife is saying? Would you like to respond?” Dr. Rowe asked with a cool tone, but Russell had hit his limit.

“Man, this some fucking bullshit. Na’imah, you leave home on a random ass Tuesday, get a penthouse in the city, and then start all this crazy ass talk about feeling trapped and robbed? Man, Na’imah be fucking for real! Ok, so what, yeah, I trapped yo’ ass with a baby and begged you to keep it. I did that shit because I knew that I wanted you to be my fucking wife and had you gone back to New Orleans yo’ ass was never gone worry about me again. Yeah, I took your virginity and got you pregnant, but every fucking promise I made you I fucking kept! I hustled my ass off in them streets to make sure you and my seed was good. I stood toe to toe with yo’ punk ass daddy when he tried to take you and my baby from me. Everything you ever asked of me, I fucking did Na’imah!” Russell screamed.

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