Decide slowly, well.
A duration you choose. One verdict, prepared and revealed at the end.
Each evening, you cast one private vote on the question you have set, for the duration you have chosen. Your partner sees only that you voted; never which way. On the final day both verdicts open at the same instant, with a five-layer analysis of where you converged, where you diverged, and the single conversation that follows.
No card required · you set the duration · we hold you to it
On the schooling question James and Alex could not settle at the dinner table, the answer was obviously yes on Tuesday and obviously no on Thursday. The difference between Tuesday and Thursday was not new information; it was them. Tuesday was the evening after the open evening at the city school. Thursday was the evening after watching their son spend three hours sliding down a hill in the countryside on the back of the dog.
Both signals were real. Neither was the answer. A decision worth losing sleep over deserves the whole arc, every Tuesday and every Thursday, for as long as the question needs.
Compose the question
One of you opens a decision, chooses a duration anywhere from a week to ninety days, and pairs your partner with a single magic link. Setup takes under two minutes.
Vote each evening
Each evening you tap one of four buttons, alone, with the option of a sentence. You see whether your partner has voted; never which way they leaned.
Read the verdict
Both verdicts publish at the same instant on the final day. Beneath them, an analysis of every note you both wrote, naming the actual axis of your disagreement.
Three stages. A duration you choose. One verdict, prepared and revealed at the end.
A single dinner-table conversation captures a single mood. Counsel.day captures the actual shape of how each of you feels across the period that suits the decision, then names what you were arguing about.
You pose the question.
One of you opens a decision, picks a duration from a week to ninety days, and pairs your partner with a magic link. The question lives only between you.
You both vote in private.
Each evening you each tap one of four buttons, alone, with the option of a sentence. You see whether your partner has voted; never which way they leaned.
The verdicts open.
Both verdicts publish at the same instant. Beneath them, an analysis of every note you wrote, naming the actual axis of your disagreement and one question for the conversation that follows.
Curious what the evening vote looks like? View the daily prompt →
Four things a single conversation cannot show you.
Counsel.day is the only product that splits the private vote from the shared conversation, captures the vote daily across a duration you choose, and produces an analysis of the underlying disagreement when the period closes. These are the four things that fall out of that mechanism, and that nothing else in the category can produce.
The shape of each partner's conviction.
Whether your position is firming toward yes, drifting toward no, or holding steady. A rising trajectory across thirty evenings is qualitatively different information from a single yes spoken over a meal. Durability is most of what you actually want to know.
The themes that actually surfaced.
Not what you predicted you would write about on day one. The themes that actually appeared, in the words you used after work on a Wednesday, in the half-sentence you tapped out before bed on a Saturday. The daylight version of you would not have brought these to the dinner table.
The axis of disagreement underneath.
Most couples come to a decision believing they are arguing about whether to do the thing. After a season of private voting, the analysis often reveals they were arguing about something else entirely: who would lose more, who would carry the cost, what each would have to give up.
One real question for the conversation.
Not "communicate more openly." A concrete, actionable question shaped by what the two of you wrote across the period. The conversation still has to happen; the product comes before it, with the data laid out plainly.
The kind of question this product is made for.
Twelve real questions our early users have opened, with the durations they chose. Set yours to a week, a fortnight, a month, a season. Whatever the decision deserves.
A fortnight, a month, a season. You choose.
The duration is the second decision the product asks of you, after the question itself. You set it once, on the day you compose, by the weight of the question. We hold you to it. You may extend; you may not shorten.
Why a season of voting, and not a single conversation.
Most decisions a couple makes can be made over dinner. A few cannot. The few that cannot tend to share three properties: the stakes are high, the timeline is long, and the feelings of each partner shift across days and weeks in ways neither of them fully sees.
When such a question is brought to the dinner table, the conversation fails in predictable ways. Whoever speaks first sets the anchor; whoever speaks loudest pulls the mood; both partners, sensing the friction, drift toward each other to avoid argument. The result is a synthesis of two people performing reasonableness, not a synthesis of what either of them actually thinks. The decision either gets made on a single misleading data point, or it gets postponed and the question returns, more tired, the next month.
The product separates the voting from the conversation, so that neither of you anchors the other before you've each been honest with yourself.
Counsel.day rests on a simple inversion. Instead of one conversation containing the whole decision, the decision is spread across a period you choose. Each evening you each tap one button. You may add a sentence. The vote is sealed; your partner sees only that you voted. After the period closes, the system has captured a dataset across two people, together with their unguarded written notes, captured over a long enough span to include the Saturday-morning optimism and the Sunday-evening doubt and the Tuesday-after-a-hard-day resignation that any honest couple knows are part of the same answer.
Set the duration to match the weight of the question. A fortnight for a house you have already half-decided to buy. A month for the move into the city. Sixty days for the marriage, the relationship-ending, the country change. Ninety days for the baby, the second child, the IVF. The product makes no claim about which duration is right; it asks you to choose one before the first vote, and it holds you to that choice.
On the final day, both verdicts publish at the same instant. The product then does the work no dinner conversation can do for itself: it reads every note both of you wrote, clusters the themes with frequencies, and writes a paragraph that names the axis of your disagreement. Not whether you disagreed, which you already knew. What you were disagreeing about underneath. Beneath the analysis, a single question for the conversation that follows. Not "communicate more openly." A real, actionable question shaped by what you actually wrote.
The conversation still has to happen. It happens when the verdict unlocks, with better information underneath it than it would have had at the start. The product comes before the conversation; it does not replace it.
A verdict from a real couple, reproduced in full.
What appears below is the actual verdict shown to one couple on the day their voting period closed. Names are illustrative; the decision, the duration, and the analysis are unchanged.
Should we move into the city?
You are not actually split on whether to move. You are split on what you would give up. James was consistently drawn to convenience, social life, and walkability; his notes mention these themes twelve times over the period, with conviction rising gently in each of the four weeks. Alexandra wrote far more, twenty-three notes in total, and they cluster around the garden, the quiet, and the space you have built together. Her conviction was flat, with three weekend spikes toward Lean Yes that all followed open homes you attended together.
"Can you find a place in town that protects what you would both miss most: real outdoor space, and quiet enough to breathe?"
"We had been arguing about this for eight months. When the verdict opened, we read it, had the right conversation for the first time, and bought a place we hadn't even considered."
Three audiences. Per decision, or one annual.
Pick by how many of you are running the decision: Solo (one), Couple (two), or Family (three to six). Each is priced one decision at a time · your first Solo decision is free. A single Consumer Annual all-access plan exists below for the rare household that runs many decisions in a year. All prices are in US dollars, charged worldwide; local tax is added at checkout where applicable. Seven-day refund window from purchase.
Solo
First decision free · then $14 USD each · also covered by Consumer Annual
- One participant
- First lifetime decision free, no card required
- Additional decisions $14 USD each, charged upfront
- All eight question formats, durations 7 to 365 days
- Free decision: own conviction chart + your own notes (no Claude-written analysis)
- Paid decision: full five-layer analysis with the Claude-written verdict paragraph
- Sealed notes alongside votes
Couple
Charged upfront when you compose · also covered by Consumer Annual
- Two participants, one invitation
- Per decision $25 USD, charged upfront
- Durations 7 to 365 days, set at composition
- Sealed notes per partner, encrypted at rest
- Five-layer verdict + axis-of-disagreement synthesis + next-conversation prompt
- HTML verdict in-app + designed PDF
Family
For households of three to six · also covered by Consumer Annual
- Three to six participants
- Per decision $49 USD, charged upfront
- Durations 14 to 365 days, set at composition
- Seven-layer family-aware verdict with coalition naming
- Trajectory chart with up to six lines
- Each participant holds their own private account
Questions people ask.
Give your hardest decision the season it deserves.
Your first decision is free. Set the duration to the weight of the question. We hold you to it.