“Wilder is my best friend’s brother, who is into improv and volunteered to act as my husband.”

“What?” Sanders says, looking confused.

“What are you doing?” Wilder asks me under his breath.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say and then address Ellison. “I’m sorry I lied. I wanted to feel like I was a part of the company and the marriage clique. I tried to fit in like an idiot, and well, you see how that went. The truth is I was married to a man named Matt, and we couldn’t make it work. All the things I told you in our sessions, Sanders, those were things about Matt. All the struggles I faced, the lack of confidence, they all derived from my first marriage. Wilder was just kind enough to go along for the ride and take the brunt of all my complaints.”

“I see,” Sanders says as he leans back in his chair and studies us.

“I’m really sorry, Ellison, and I know if you want to hold this against me, I understand. Lying does not belong in the workplace. I want you both to know that this was all on me and not on Wilder.”

“No,” Wilder says. “I played an equal part.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Sanders asks.

“Because I just had a conversation with another camper, asking me for advice on how I was able to make things right with Wilder, and I realized that being deceitful is helping no one. And in the long run, I don’t want to keep up with the charade.” I look Sanders in the eyes. “I’m really sorry I wasted your time. That I made a mockery of this camp by lying. You deserve so much more respect than what I’ve given you.” Then I look at Wilder. “And I’m sorry I wasted your time and that I put you through a week of carrying my baggage.”

“You didn’t,” he says quickly, but I keep moving forward.

“I called my friend. She’s coming to pick me up. I really don’t want to stay much longer. I hope that’s okay. And again, I’m really sorry.”

I go to stand, but Sanders holds out his hand. “One moment.” He crosses his arms across his chest and studies me and Wilder. “So you’re telling me you two are not in a relationship?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“But you pretended to be?”

“That’s correct,” I answer. “And like I said, I’m really⁠—”

“I know you’re sorry,” he says. “I’m just trying to understand what the hell I see between you two though. Because what I’ve noticed the last few days, that is not made up. The way you look at each other, touch each other, work so well together—that’s not improv.”

“It’s not for me,” Wilder says.