Page 134 of Faultlines
“Walk with me.” He jerks his chin toward the path leading to the barn. It isn’t a request.
The snow crunches beneath our boots. I don’t hesitate. I would never refuse him. This is a man I’ve respected for as long as I’ve known him.
When we reach my truck, he stops and turns to face me.
“Ethan, I’ve been turning this conversation over in my head for months.” He holds my gaze. “Do you know what makes me the angriest?”
“I can think of a few things.”
He nods, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. That’s the problem. So can I.”
Silence stretches between us before he speaks again.
“When Claire brought you home, it was obvious to everyone that you adored her.”
“I know.”
“No.” He looks away before answering. “I don’t think you do.”
“You used to look at my daughter like she was the only person in the room. For more than twenty years, the two of you built a life together, one decision at a time. And I know what a marriage built on love looks like. I had that with Eleanor.”
His voice hardens.
“I remember the day you asked for my permission to marry her. You promised me you’d protect her heart.”
The words settle between us.
“Instead, you broke it.”
My chest tightens.
“When her mother died, Claire survived by taking care of everyone else. That’s who she’s always been. She pours herself into the people she loves until there’s almost nothing left for herself.”
I stare at the snow beneath my boots.
“She carried this family in ways you probably never even noticed,” he continues. “She put her own dreams on hold to raise Ellie. She supported your career without keeping score. She made your house a home. And when she finally found her way back to the work that gives her purpose, you couldn’t tolerate eighteen months of sharing her with it.”
He takes a slow breath, disappointment replacing anger.
“Marriage isn’t about being the center of your spouse’s world, Ethan. It’s about standing beside them while they become who they’re meant to be.”
His eyes meet mine again.
“You should’ve been proud of her.”
The disappointment in his voice cuts deeper than anger ever could.
The next morning, Claire arrives just as I finish making coffee. She’s wearing the most ridiculous Christmas sweater. The leg lamp from A Christmas Story juts from the front, complete with a 3D lampshade that bounces precariously with every step.
“Sloane?” I ask, pointing at her sweater.
She glances down at her outfit, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “Oh yes, it even lights up.” She laughs, pressing a hidden button that makes the miniature lamp glow.
“Do I even want to know?”
She chuckles. “No, you don’t.”
I step aside, allowing her into the foyer.
