Page 70 of Faultlines

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Her eyes wide and trembling. “Because I thought if I said it out loud, it would become real. I could pretend, as long as nobody else knew.”

By Friday, the vandalism investigation is ongoing, and the police make no progress on Heidi’s domestic abuse report.

The house is different with Ethan gone, the silence expanding to fill the space his presence usually occupies. There are no new messages on my phone.

Ellie is ecstatic that Mona is spending the weekend with us. The unique energy that only thirteen-year-old girls can generate transforms the house within an hour of Mona’s arrival. Blankets migrate from bedrooms to the living room, and snacks materialize from every kitchen cabinet. The girls spend twenty minutes debating movie options before settling on one they both talk through incessantly.

After they finish their movie and head upstairs, the house settles into silence. My gaze drifts to the empty recliner, and then to a framed photo of Ethan and I on the bookshelf—sunburned, laughing on a California beach, his arm around my waist. I trace the glass over his face. “One day,” he’d said on that splintered dock, “we’re going to have a house with a big porch.” The photograph blurs, I set it down and press my fingers to my eyes.

I think about our first house and how proud we were. We painted every room ourselves, arguing good-naturedly about colors while eating pizza on unopened boxes. One night, after we’d finally unpacked the kitchen, Ethan pulled me into the middle of the empty room and started dancing.

“There isn’t any music,” I laughed.

“There doesn’t need to be.”

He spun me around on the worn linoleum. “We’re homeowners now,” he said, his voice warm. “I think dancing in the kitchen is required.”

I recall standing in the small master bathroom, the porcelain sink cold beneath my fingertips, staring at a positive pregnancy test. I walked into the living room and handed it to him without a word. He stared at it, then at me. “Are you serious?”

I nodded, my throat tight.

His expression shifted—disbelief, then joy. He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I struggled to breathe.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered. He didn’t stop smiling for weeks.

My eyes drift back to the photograph on the bookshelf. The younger versions of us, sun-kissed and laughing, smile back at me from behind the glass, unaware of the years ahead—unaware of the challenges we’d face or the life we’d build.

“I miss you,” I whisper into the empty room, the words absorbed by the silence. The only response is the distant, muffled sound of Ellie laughing upstairs.

I know what this is. I’ve read enough articles, seen enough friends’ marriages dissolve to recognize the pattern. But knowing and accepting are different countries, and I’m still at the border, passport in hand, telling myself that winter always turns to spring.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DELAYED COLLAPSE

Ethan

The light turns red.

My foot settles on the brake, and for a fleeting second, I consider taking the next right instead. I could head home. Walk through the front door, kiss Claire, ask Ellie about her day, pretend none of this ever started.

The light changes.

I press the gas instead.

At the next intersection, I tell myself I can still turn around. Every traffic light offers another chance. Every mile puts more distance between the man I thought I was and the one I’m becoming.

Still, I keep driving.

When I pull up to her small apartment, I already know I’m not leaving without her. The front door opens, and she emerges with a small overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the street before landing on my truck.

Before I know it, she’s opening the passenger door, and sliding into the seat beside me.

“Morning.”