I was once introducing myself to a couple coming for marital therapy, and the husband, who I will call Joe, did a strange thing. We shook hands and he slipped a folded paper in my palm. We made our way to the couches, and, feeling like I was in a spy movie, I snuck the note into the pile of paperwork and glanced at his scrawled message: “Need to meet with you alone, without Lynnette. Confidential!!!”
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