Page 44 of Faultlines

I think of Lucy and Jensen. “I’m sorry.”

“He tried,” she says, twisting a napkin. “We both did. We told ourselves it didn’t matter. I think we were just waiting to see who would break first.”

“And he did?”

She nods. “More than anything, he confessed, he longed to be a father, even if it meant he couldn’t be my husband.” Her voice cracks. “That’s not exactly what he said, but it’s what I heard.”

“And you left?”

“I had to. Every street corner reminded me of a life that wasn’t mine anymore.” A faint, self-deprecating smile appears. “I called in a favor. My dad knows the mayor here. Nepo baby, reporting for duty.”

I laugh. She smiles back, but the sadness in her eyes remains.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FAULT SLIP

Claire

Wednesday arrives faster than I’d like. Despite spending the better part of a week preparing for the meeting with the board, I still don’t feel ready. My notes are organized. The incident timeline is printed. Copies of our revised safety procedures sit neatly in a folder beside me. None of it quiets the voice in my head. What if I missed something?

I smooth invisible wrinkles from my blouse before making my way down the hallway toward the conference room. Every step feels heavier than the last.

The conference room is already half full when I walk in.

Denise Mitchell, our board chair, rises to greet me with a warm smile. Around the table sit six other board members, along with our executive director. Coffee cups, notepads, and neatly stacked copies of Heidi’s incident report are arranged in front of them.

The sight of the report makes my stomach tighten.

“Claire,” Denise says, extending a hand. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Of course.”

“We know this has been an incredibly difficult few months.”

I nod, taking the empty chair at the end of the table.

Karen waits until everyone has settled before speaking. “First, I want to be clear about why we’re here.” Her voice is calm, measured. “This isn’t about assigning blame. We know the staff responded quickly, followed protocol, and most importantly, that Heidi received immediate medical attention.”

A small breath escapes my lungs.

“But,” she continues gently, “an event like this requires us to ask difficult questions—because we owe it to every resident in our care to learn from it.”

Around the table, heads nod in agreement.

Denise folds her hands. “Can you walk us through everything that happened that day?”

I glance down at my notes. Then I close the folder, because I don’t need a script for this. Taking a steadying breath, I meet their eyes.

“I can.”

My mind is still replaying the board meeting the following morning when I arrive at Juniper House—and find Heidi standing on the porch with arms crossed. She looks thinner, though not alarmingly so. More concerning is the look in her eyes. Her confidence has vanished, making her appear hesitant.

I spend the next several days helping her transition back into the house. We review treatment recommendations, coordinate therapy appointments, and ease her back into daily routines. Throughout it all, something still feels off. She seems withdrawn. Several times I catch her staring into space as though she were somewhere else. Every time I ask if she’s okay, she gives the same answer, “I’m fine.”

I give her space, busying myself with paperwork. Pushing her will only make her retreat further.

One afternoon, I look up from my desk, and Heidi is standing in the doorway.