Page 99 of Faultlines

“It looked like what it was: a middle-aged man reliving his college days with someone two decades younger. I’ve become a cliché.” I straighten, the chair creaking again. “I’m ending it tonight. I should’ve taken your advice and ended it weeks ago.”

Frustration flashes across his face, his jaw tightening. “Then why didn’t you?”

When I exhale, the sound is a ragged whisper. “Because I’m selfish.”

Sitting across from the friend who tried to warn me, the scent of his raspberry scone still in the air, I find myself facing a far more uncomfortable question.

If Claire ever gives me the chance to fight for our marriage, do I even deserve it?

That evening, I pull into the middle school parking lot as the sun dips below the trees. Everything looks the same as it has for months, from the familiar chatter of the students to the performance posters taped to the auditorium doors.

For so long, rehearsal was the part of my day I looked forward to most.

A week ago, the laughter and controlled chaos felt familiar. Today, every sound scrapes against my nerves.

My eyes immediately search for Ellie. For months, I came here looking for Brooke first. Tonight, I’m looking for my daughter. Her absence is immediately noticeable. The worn velvet seat she usually claims is empty. Her backpack isn’t there. Even the group of students she normally gravitates toward feels incomplete without her. The Queen of Hearts’ throne sits near the side of the stage, untouched.

For the next two hours, I keep busy fixing a loose backdrop and a stubborn set piece, anything to stay occupied. I notice Brooke looking at me from across the auditorium, but neither of us makes any effort to cross the room. She has to be wondering why I haven’t answered her messages.

Eventually, I hear approaching footsteps. Brooke stops beside me as I stack scenery flats.

Her voice is quiet. “Ellie wasn’t here tonight.”

I nod without looking up. “No.”

“Is she okay?” The concern in her voice makes this harder.

I set the scenery flat down and lean against it. “She’s with Claire.”

She studies the bruise on my face before looking back at me. “Ethan, what’s going on?”

“Claire knows.”

“What?”

“She knows about us.”

The color leaves her face. “Oh God... how? Is that why you haven’t answered me?”

Without answering, I pull out my phone, make sure the volume is all the way down, and open the video. My stomach twists violently as I hand it to her.

Her expression changes as the footage plays. Confusion gives way to recognition, then to horror. When the video ends, she looks physically ill.

I take the phone back, the plastic warm from her grip, and slip it into my pocket.

“Someone saw us?” she asks.

“Friday night. Claire was here in the auditorium after rehearsal, with her sister Lucy and their cousin Sloane.”

She lowers herself onto the edge of the stage, staring into the now empty auditorium.

“She left you?”

“Yes.”

A shudder runs through her. “What about Ellie?”

“I’m not sure what she knows.”