Thelma played the cello. Every morning before she talked to anyone, like checking the weather. She was married to Fred who was a decent man. Reliable Fred. The kind of Fred that would remember birthdays and replace the batteries in smoke detectors. He loved her sincerely and did not understand why that didn’t feel like enough. He understood her habits, but not her gravity.

One night, after dinner and an argument that had already run unnecessary laps, he said it out loud, “You love that cello more than me.” She tightened a string that had been slipping all day. Then she said, “I love you with the part of me that makes plans. I love the cello with the part of me that survives.”

This didn’t help.

They went to see Nathan the counsellor. He wasn’t licensed. He was an artist who described himself as a counsellor, which partly explained why he was cheaper than the ones with credentials. He lived above a rehearsal factory. He owned one chair, and never interrupted. Fred talked about feeling second place. Thelma talked about feeling split in half. Nathan listened, nodding like someone watching traffic.

Finally, he said, “Give me the cello.” Thelma hesitated, then handed it over as though crossing a border she hadn’t planned to. He leaned it against the wall. “Now,” he said to Fred, “ask it what it wants.” Fred cleared his throat. He tried a sentence. Nothing happened and the cello remained inanimate. Then Nathan said to Thelma, “Play it with your eyes closed.” She closed her eyes and pulled the bow. Downstairs the jam band stopped for no apparent reason. When she stopped, Nathan turned to Fred. “Did she leave?” “No,” Fred said. “She was right here.”

“With the cello?”

“Yes,” he said. “Completely.” Nathan the discount counsellor smiled the way people do when they’ve seen this movie before. “Then this isn’t about love,” he said. “It’s about control. You want to be first. The cello wants her to be honest.”

That night, Fred stopped competing with the wood and wire. Thelma stopped trying to justify gravity. They stayed together. Not blissfully. Just accurately.