Chapter 43
Ethan
The question followed me all day.
It sat there, lodged somewhere between my chest and my throat, not loud enough to demand attention but heavy enough that I couldn’t forget it.
I tried to ignore it the way I ignored a lot of things.
By staying busy, by telling myself it didn’t matter, by reminding myself of what I’d already lost the right to ask.
It wasn’t my place. She didn’t owe me anything. I had no claim on her anymore.
I told myself all of that. Repeated it. It didn’t help.
Every time Claire passed me in the hallway, I noticed details I shouldn’t have been looking for.
The faint marks at her collarbone that hadn’t been there yesterday.
The way she moved, lighter, maybe, or maybe I was imagining it.
The way she smiled when Lily showed her a new drawing, the way she leaned down and brushed hair out of her face like it was instinct, like she belonged here.
And every time, the same thought landed, unwelcome and persistent.
She’d gone out last night. With him.
By late afternoon, the house fell into one of those quiet pockets that only happened on Sundays.
Lily disappeared into her room with her crayons and paper, shutting the door with the soft seriousness of someone deep in important work.
Dad was outside, hunched over the garden, humming off-key as he pulled weeds and talked to himself.
Mom sat under the oak tree with her cast propped on a cushion, book open but unread, soaking up the sun.
Claire was in the kitchen.
She stood at the sink, rinsing out Lily’s lunch container, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled back loosely. She moved like she’d done this a hundred times before, like this house knew her. Like it was normal for her to be here.
That realization hit harder than it should have.
I lingered in the doorway longer than necessary. I told myself I was just waiting for the right moment, but really, I was stalling. My heart was already picking up speed, uneven and sharp, like it sensed trouble before my brain did.
Claire noticed me eventually. She glanced over her shoulder, water still running.
“You, okay?” she asked.
Not really.
“Yeah,” I said anyway.
The lie sounded thin.
I stepped farther into the kitchen, leaning against the counter like I needed the support. The question pressed harder, like it knew it was running out of time.
I took a breath. “How was the date?”
Claire paused, she shut off the faucet and set the container aside before turning toward me. Her smile came easily, practiced.
“It was fine.”
Fine.
That word had always bothered me. It didn’t mean good or bad. It meant nothing.
My jaw tightened before I could stop it. “He made it, then.”
The second the sentence left my mouth, I knew I’d crossed a line.
Her head snapped up, eyes sharpening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I lifted a hand, already backpedaling. “Nothing. I just meant, you said he cancels a lot.”
“Oh,” she said flatly. “So now you’re keeping track?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly.
She crossed her arms, weight shifting onto one hip. “Then what did you mean, Ethan?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The careful answer, the one that kept things polite and intact, hovered right there.
I didn’t use it.
“I just don’t get it,” I said instead.
Her jade eyes narrowed dangerously. “Get what?”
“Why you’re with him.”
The air changed immediately. Like the room had tilted.
Claire went very still.
I should have stopped there. Any reasonable person would have. But the question had been sitting in me all day, and once it cracked open, everything behind it rushed out.
“You deserve better,” I said. “You always have.”
Her laugh was short and sharp, not amused. “Do I?”
“Yes,” I said, stepping closer without meaning to. “Of course you do.”
She shook her head, something brittle flashing across her face. “Not everyone wants some big, dramatic love story, Ethan. Not everyone wants the highs and the crashes and the constant uncertainty. Some of us just want something easy. Stable. Normal.”
The word normal landed between us like an accusation.
I swallowed. My voice came out lower than I expected. “Are you happy?”
She stared in disbelief.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, like it was pressing against my ears. For a second, I thought she might not answer at all.
Then I saw it, the flicker of something painful crossing her face before she pulled it back, anger snapping into place like armor.
“That was the old me,” she said, voice tight. “The stupid version of me. The girl who thought she needed to hear from you five times a day just to feel okay.”
The words hit, right where they’d do the most damage.
I flinched, because she wasn’t wrong. Because I had been careless with her in ways that still echoed. Because I’d left, and I had no right to be like this with her.
“Claire,” I started.
She didn’t let me finish.
She grabbed her bag from the counter, movements sharp and efficient, and headed for the door. She didn’t look back.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final sound.
I stood there alone in the kitchen, the house still moving around me like nothing had happened. Dad’s humming drifted in through the open window. Lily laughed somewhere down the hall.
And I realized I’d done exactly what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.
I’d asked the question anyway.