Page 109 of Faultlines

“The first thing I need to tell you is that I don’t want you attending rehearsals anymore.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you here during rehearsals.”

“I’ve been helping with the set since the beginning,” I say, my voice rising.

“Oh—I know.”

“I’m not saying you can’t finish the set,” she continues, her gaze steady. “You can come in after rehearsal, work when the building is empty, or come in on weekends. But I do not want to spend the next week and a half standing in the same room with you while trying to keep this production together.”

“You don’t want me here,” I say, mostly to myself.

“No.” The single word resonates.

“You can come to the performances to support Ellie. Nobody is keeping you from being her father. But as far as rehearsals are concerned, I need space. I need to focus on these kids without seeing you.”

I open my mouth to speak, but she raises a hand.

“Don’t argue with me about this, Ethan. I also need you to understand something else.”

I gesture for her to continue.

“I am not ready to talk about what happens next. I don’t know what I’m doing right now, or where Ellie and I are going to live, or how to explain any of this to her.”

I take a step toward her on pure instinct. She takes a step back, and I freeze, my foot hovering in the air.

“I spent so much time thinking I was imagining things, being paranoid, overreacting.”

I can’t look away.

“I blamed my job, stress, perimenopause. I blamed myself.”

Shame twists. She searched for answers and all I gave her were lies.

“I’d come home earlier. I made more time for us. I thought if I could just figure out what was happening, I could fix it.” A tear slips down her cheek. “I don’t have any faith in you anymore. I don’t trust you. Not your judgment, not your promises. I’m second-guessing every memory of our marriage.”

These are the consequences Reid warned me about.

“I ended it,” I say.

“She abruptly resigned, Ethan. She left town. This is Juniper Ridge. News travels faster than Wi-Fi.”

“I still needed you to know.”

She picks up her binder signaling the conversation is over, but panic tightens around my throat.

“Claire.” She pauses with her back to me. “I’m sorry.” The words feel pathetic, inadequate.

“Yeah, me too,” she replies without looking back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

UNDETECTED DAMAGE

Claire

I pause outside the room Ellie has claimed as hers. She’s sitting cross-legged on the rainbow bedspread we brought from her room, headphones resting around her neck and her script spread across the comforter.