Page 130 of Faultlines

“You were gone one hundred forty-six days, six hours, and twenty-three minutes.”

“Wow, that’s very specific.”

“In all seriousness, welcome back. I missed you, and so did the girls.”

“It’s good to be back.” And surprisingly, it is.

At first, the ranch was just a place to survive. I woke up each morning and moved through the unfamiliar rooms like a ghost haunting someone else’s life. Then the school year started, and I learned the route to the bus stop, then how to make coffee in a kitchen that didn’t feel like mine.

Halloween came, then Thanksgiving.

Then the counseling appointments—week after week of sitting in a chair that still smelled like the last person, saying things out loud I’d never said before.

Somewhere in all of that, I was learning who I was outside of being Ethan’s wife. Here, I’m just Claire Bennett, Director.

Marisol settles into the chair opposite me. “Okay, quick updates,” she says. “Holiday donations are up, the east wing plumbing is finally fixed, and some of the girls are participating in a caroling project. On the downside, a few board members are still emailing at all hours.”

When she finishes, I have pages of notes.

“Anything else?” I ask.

She gives me a familiar look—one that signals she’s saved the worst news for last. “We caught Heidi sneaking out again.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t⁠—”

“To see Jake. The situation with Jake has gotten worse. The first time she came back with a couple of bruises she hadn’t had the day before,” she says.

Even after all our interventions… she’s still convinced she loves him. It’s like he’s twisted her need for affection into a leash, and he knows just when to pull.

“How many times has this happened?”

“Twice. The first time was three weeks ago, and the second was just last week. Maintenance is reinforcing the east fence and adding more barbed wire. She’s meeting him behind the old shopping center on Locksley Drive. You know the one with the broken asphalt and weeds.”

“Of course, every teenager thinks no one will ever check abandoned parking lots. How long was she gone each time?”

“About two to three hours. She’s defensive, claiming they only talk. I called Detective Hale and we filed a report about the bruises, but she denied everything. She refuses to say that he hurt her.”

I’ve seen this before. The loyalty doesn’t make sense—but it’s fierce, and trying to cut through it only makes them cling tighter.

“How are they communicating?”

“We found a prepaid phone hidden in her room. But there’s more. Kelsey came to me yesterday, terrified. She said Heidi is thinking of running away with him.”

“This explains why she stopped volunteering at the ranch.” The pieces click into place.

She hesitates, her fingers drumming on the closed folder in her lap. “There’s one more thing.”

“Worse than Heidi sneaking out to meet an abusive boyfriend?”

She reaches into the side pocket of her bag and pulls out a folder. Inside is a single sheet of white paper that looks like it’s been photocopied. My name is printed across the front in stark black letters.

“It came in yesterday’s mail,” she says. “No return address. No signature. Just this.”

The message is short enough that I read it twice before my mind accepts the words.

Stay away from what doesn’t belong to you, or someone will get hurt.

“Did you call the police?” I ask.