‘If I don’t get out now, I’m terrified of what I might do,’ he’d said when I asked why he’d come to see me, during our first session. ‘For the first time ever, I was going to retaliate and it scared me because I didn’t know what I might be capable of.’

I’d looked at him, curiously, unable to recall another client who thought they were the one who needed help, instead of the person who’d been making their life hell.

‘Can you tell me what happened to make you feel this way?’ I’d asked softly.

He’d looked down at his intertwined fingers in his lap. ‘She stayed out last Saturday,’ he started. ‘All night.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘And do you know where she’d been?’

He’d laughed cynically. ‘Oh, she made sure to tell me all the details.’ He shifted on the sofa, pulling a scatter cushion onto his lap, as if it were a metaphorical barrier.

I’d sat back in my chair opposite him, giving him the time and space to decide whether he wanted to elaborate.

‘She’d been with another man,’ he’d said eventually. ‘Having the best sex she’s ever had.’

I’d recoiled inwardly, unable to imagine how it must feel to be told something like that by the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with.

‘She told you that?’ I’d asked incredulously, seemingly still capable of being shocked by the sadistic behaviour of some people, despite being in the job for over ten years.

He’d nodded. ‘Yes, just before she straddled me and attempted to force herself on me.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ he said. ‘I could still smell him on her, for God’s sake. But regardless, I could no longer convince my body that making love to her was what I wanted to do. It had listened to the call to action for so long, ever ready to perform when she wanted it to, but eventually, my brain just said, “Enough, I can’t do this any more.”’

His lips had closed and he’d grimaced. ‘She told me I was an embarrassment to mankind, unable to perform the most primitive of functions.’

‘How did that make you feel?’ I’d asked.

‘Less of a man,’ he said. ‘Though I guess she’s ingrained it in me to such an extent that it’s impossible to feel any other way.’

‘So your relationship has affected your masculinity?’ I’d asked.

‘Of course,’ he’d said, sighing. ‘How can it not? The stereotype is that a real man should be in charge, be the breadwinner.’

I couldn’t help but cringe at his misguided definition. ‘Don’t you think that’s a rather outdated stereotype these days?’

‘Is it?’ he’d asked, seeming genuinely out of touch. ‘That gives me some hope then, as I’m not like that.’